


And The Snakes Start To Sing: Year One

by floralandfading



Series: And The Snakes Start To Sing [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Does Hogwarts even run background checks, Drarry, Eventual Drarry, F/M, He's just a really big prat, I wouldn't say evil Ron Weasley, It's mostly about things Hagrid shouldn't have said, M/M, Mentor Severus Snape, Not that he'll admit to it, Protective Blaise Zabini, Protective Severus Snape, Protective Slytherins, Slytherin Harry, Slytherins Being Slytherins, also who even let quirrell teach here, anxious and abused harry, im looking at you dumbledore, it breaks severus' heart, like in a different book drarry, like that, okayish dumbledore, or do they pick the next defense teacher out of a hat, or that, probably tbh, they're only 11 so, whatever that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 117,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralandfading/pseuds/floralandfading
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Draco isn't the biggest prat in the world and Harry doesn't hate Slytherins.</p><p>Slytherin AU ft. Anxious!Harry and Mentor!Snape</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogwarts.

“It has be around here somewhere.” the raven-haired boy muttered to himself, glancing down at the thin piece of embossed cardstock he held against his chest. It was nearing a quarter to eleven, but no matter how many times the boy walked the length of the busy train station, he could not find the supposed Platform 9 and ¾’s that was neatly printed on his ticket.

“Excuse me,” he called out to a train attendant, worryingly biting on his lower lip. “Do you happen to know where Platform 9 and ¾’s is?”

He was met with nothing short of a distasteful laugh and a roll of the other man’s eyes. “Have you checked between Platforms 9 and 10?” he was asked sarcastically. “Run along kid, I don’t have time for foolish games.”

Slumping his shoulders in silent defeat, he began to question what would happen if he couldn’t find the right platform in time. His Uncle Vernon had laughed when they couldn’t find it right away and wished him the best of luck before leaving with the rest of his extended family nearly ten minutes ago. He couldn’t figure out what was worse: the fact that he had been abandoned at Kings Cross Station or the idea of having to somehow return to his said extended family.

Brushing strands of black hair out of his face, he gave the station another desperate sweep. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up. If it weren’t for the blatant fact that he was pulling along a heavy leather trunk full of magical school supplies and a wire cage housing a snowy white owl, Harry Potter would have started to believe that he had gone mad and merely imagined the ordeal that taken place on the 31st of July.

Yet, the fact of the matter was, that on his eleventh birthday a man with a pink umbrella and a heavy accent had arrived to deliver a somewhat squashed chocolate cake and a very unbelievable message: “Yer’ a wizard, Harry.” he had informed him, with the most serious of expressions. “Just like yer’ parents.”

His recollection of events was interrupted when he caught sight of a group of people making their way towards the blank wall near Platform 9. It wasn’t the sheer number of them, nor the fiery red of their hair that caught Harry’s attention - although that certainly helped - but it was the owl cage in one of the boy’s hands.

Harry was too far to eavesdrop into their conversation, but he didn’t miss the way the elders of the group scanned the station before nodding to the redhead holding the owl cage, nor could he miss the way the boy seemed to just walk through a solid brick wall before the rest of the family followed through.

Brushing off his doubts and focusing on whatever courage he had left, Harry lifted the handle of his trunk and dragged it towards the brick wall. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes and finished the distance with four running steps. Completely expecting to run straight into the brick, he let out a sigh of relief when he realized he had literally stepped into another world. He didn’t need confirmation from the overhanging sign to know that this was the hidden platform he had been searching for.

Now that his first problem of finding the train had been solved, Harry realized he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Casting a glance at the bustle of colorful robes and excited children, he began to feel crowded and more than a little overwhelmed. There was a tightness forming in his chest and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Wizards were appearing out of thin air with faint _pops_ and it was making his head spin. There was –-

“Hey, it's okay. Take a deep breath.” a voice interrupted his panic, and Harry glanced up to see two of the redheads from earlier looking down at him with kind, identical smiles. Everything about them was identical, actually. “First year?”

“Yeah.” Harry managed to answer, before forcing himself to breathe. “I just, got a little overwhelmed you know?”

“Happens to the best of us.” the other boy assured him.

“I’m Fred,” the one who had spoken first introduced himself, extending his arm in greeting. It took everything inside of Harry not to flinch, but he didn’t miss the strange look that the twins shared. “Fred Weasley.” he elaborated, thankfully choosing to not comment.

“George.” the other grinned.

They were both taking in his rugged appearance, and feeling somewhat self-conscious, Harry brushed a hand through his messy hair and straightened his shoulders before speaking. “Harry Potter.”

He saw the way their eyes widened for a moment as they sought out the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, forcing Harry to hold his breath. Hagrid had already explained what that scar meant to the people in the Wizarding World and he was worried of the attention it would attract, but to his surprise, the two boys didn't react past that.

 

“Blimey.” Fred allowed himself to say, before shaking his head and grinning. “Do you want some help? You seemed a little lost.”

Relieved they weren't going to comment further, Harry nodded thankfully and picked up Hedwig’s cage as the twins grabbed a handle on his trunk and headed towards the train.

“You’re going to love Hogwarts.” Fred promised him, or was it George?

“We’re in our third year, ourselves.” George – or Fred – informed him.

“Gryffindor.”

“Our brother, Ron, is starting his first year too. He’s a bit of a –”

“Git.” the other supplied with a grin. 

“- but he’s not too hard to handle. It’s Percy who’s going to be difficult. He’s a Prefect this year, and –”

“He’s been a pain in the arse all summer.”

“Anyway, just choose a seat, try to make some friends, and your ticket will be clipped –”

“Magically.” the other finished, setting Harry’s trunk down in an empty compartment.

“Oh, and just leave your trunk here when the train arrives. The house elves will take everything up to your room.”

Flustered, Harry called his thanks to the twins as they left and went to choose a seat.

“Not a problem, mate.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you at the sorting.”

Not bothering to question what a house elf or the sorting was, Harry curled up on a corner seat and pulled out his Potions textbook. He began to read through the introductory paragraphs as he had done with all of his new schoolbooks. Potions was the subject he was most excited about, and he was so immersed in his reading that he didn’t notice when someone else entered his compartment.

“It seems all the other compartments are full,” a voice interrupted his reading. Harry looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see the pale face of the boy he had met in Diagon Alley. “Would you mind if we sat here with yo – oh, it’s you!”

The blond smiled at him, and Harry couldn’t help but smile back. It was the only familiar face he was going to come across, after all.

“Of course not.” Harry assured him, folding the corner of the page to mark his place before setting the textbook aside. He glanced at the boy and girl who entered behind…come to think of it, Harry had never learned the other’s name.

“This is Blaise Zabini,” the blond introduced the dark skinned boy to his right, with the same charming smile and air of self-importance he had showcased at Madame Malkin’s, before gesturing towards the girl. “- and this is Pansy Parkinson."

“Hello.”

“Hi.”  
  
There was a moment of silence as the boy stared at Harry’s face in concentration before looking down. “I don’t believe we actually introduced ourselves,” he admitted, a flush coloring his cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m Malfoy - Draco Malfoy." 

“Harry Potter.” the thin boy mumbled in response, wondering what kind of reaction his name was going to elicit from this particular group of kids who carried themselves with far too much poise and grace for someone their age.

“You’re lying.” Draco immediately accused, taking a step forward. “I mean, I know Harry Potter is supposed to be starting at Hogwarts this year, but it can’t be you.”

“Why not?”

He had meant for his question to sound casual, but he couldn’t help the wave of hurt that washed over him. He had clearly already failed Draco’s expectation of what he was supposed to be, and wondered if this spelled the end of their very brief friendship.

“Harry Potter vanquished the Dark Lord.” Draco informed him, taking in every bit of his appearance. “He lives in honor and glory.”

Not in faded hand-me-downs, Harry finished silently. He glanced at the other two and was somewhat relieved to see their neutral expressions. At the very least, they weren’t openly disappointed by what he turned out to be. Brushing his hand through his hair – a nervous tick of his - he realized it would reveal the scar Draco was intently searching for. There were two stifled gasps when they spotted it, and to his surprise – a sound that was more like a choked laugh.

He looked up to see Blaise Zabini shaking his head at Draco, a glint of friendly amusement in his eyes. “Good job, Malfoy,” he snorted. “Two minutes and you’ve already managed to upset The Boy Who Lived.”

“I didn’t mean to –”

Blaise gave Harry a small smile before taking a seat next to him. “Don’t mind him,” he gestured towards Draco, who looked appropriately abashed. “He’s not very good at articulating his feelings. He’s got the subtlety of a potato.”

“Hey!”

Harry nodded, eyeing Draco from underneath his fringe . Grey eyes stared back, and the faint blush from earlier returned with a vengeance.

Blaise smirked. "He just wanted to make a very fitting first impression, but clearly, he’s already messed that up.” He laughed, and Harry forced himself to smile. Draco had been planning to seek him out, to become friends with him, merely because of who he was.

“I did not!” Draco frowned, straightening his already impeccable posture. “Besides, it doesn’t matter because we were already friends before I knew who he was.”

Harry nodded, considering that.

“To explain,” Draco began, sending another glare at Blaise. “I simply wanted to be certain that you were the real Harry Potter. Have you any idea how many first years are going to claim to be The Boy Who Lived, merely for the attention they’ll receive?”

Again, Harry nodded. It made sense, he supposed. Even if it had hurt his feelings a bit, to be so quickly judged by the state of his belongings. 

“Besides, I think it’s rather smart of you to dress down your status. It’ll help you make real friends, not followers.”

Draco seemed rather proud of his little speech, that Harry didn’t have the heart to explain he hadn’t dressed down for that reason. After a moment though, he realized he didn’t want the blond to be misled either.

“Well, actually,” Harry began, wondering if it was too late to shut up. “These are my cousin’s hand-me-downs. I don’t have any of my own.”

Draco’s eyes widened for a quarter of a second in disbelief. “You mean muggle clothing, right? It’s alright – not all wizards own muggle clothing. Most prefer to wear their robes, unless they’re venturing to muggle cities.”

“Um, no.” Harry corrected, feeling rather small. “The school robes I got at Diagon Alley are the first I’ve ever owned.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “You’re supposed to be living like royalty for what you did, not…”

Harry understood then. It seemed like the wizarding world had been fed false information of what happened to the famous Boy Who Lived after he had been sent to live with his unknown relatives.

“Back in Surrey,” Harry started, wondering how much he was willing to talk. “I lived with my aunt and uncle – and my cousin. Um, they’re all muggles, so they don’t really know about Lord Voldemort –” he didn’t miss the way they cringed at the name – “so I’m not anything special to them. I’m more of an inconvenience, really.”

“You were sent to live with Muggles?” Draco asked, disbelief coloring his tone. “I can’t believe that the bloody Boy Who –”

“Hey, so what House do you think you’re going to be put in?” Blaise cut in, sending Draco a warning glare.

“I don’t know.” Harry admitted, taking the reprieve Blaise had offered. “I don’t know a lot about Hogwarts, or the houses really. I know there’s Slytherin and Gryffi…” he trailed off, not remembering the name the Weasley twins had mentioned. In truth, he had only remembered the former because of Hagrid’s comment of it turning out dark wizards like Lord Voldemort himself.

“Gryffindor.” Draco supplied, with a grimace. “I’m going to be in Slytherin, like my father and mother were. Just like all of my family has been.”

“I wouldn’t mind Ravenclaw.” Pansy finally spoke up, and Harry saw that she had taken a seat across from them. “However, I’d much prefer Slytherin.”

“Ravenclaw would be fine.” Draco allowed. “Just as long as I’m not placed in Hufflepuff, or bloody Gryffindor. If I’m put in either of those, I’ll drop out.”

“What’s wrong with Gryffindor?” Harry asked, his mind going back to the red headed twins from earlier.

“They’re blundering idiots.” Draco answered. “They’re like overeager puppies who run into the face of danger without thinking. They’re “brave and chivalrous”, but in reality they’re just thick-headed, boisterous, and arrogant.”

“Oh.”

Harry wasn’t particularly fond of how spiteful Draco was being, but he didn’t say anything. Perhaps there was more to the story.

“That’s what Father says, anyway.” Draco shrugged, finally sitting down. “I wouldn’t want to think what he’d do if I got sorted into Gryffindor.”

Harry wanted to ask what they meant by sorting – it was the second time it had been mentioned to him today – but his head was stuck on something else Draco had said, something about his father. Whenever he did something to upset his Uncle Vernon, he would get shoved into the cupboard under the stairs without food for the rest of the day. Sometimes, if it was really bad, he would get knocked around a few times, before being thrown into his cupboard. Harry wondered if this was a common thing, after all. He filed the information away, to ask Draco another time.

“I’m really excited to learn about Charms.” Pansy was saying, tapping her wand against her nails. “My mother – she’s an editor for _Witch Weekly_ , you know – taught me a few, see?” she showcased her nails, which she had magically painted a different color.

“Astronomy,” Blaise offered. “and Transfiguration. I heard McGonagall is an Animagi herself; it would be really cool to learn that.”

“What’s an Animagi?” Harry asked, feeling very out of place. He hoped he wouldn’t be the only student who had no knowledge of the magical world at all.

“It’s someone who can transform into an animal.” Draco answered, not seeming frazzled by his lack of knowledge anymore. He had simply grown to accept that the boy grew up under a rock. “I can’t wait until Defense Against the Dark Arts. According to Father, they get a new teacher every year, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Draco answered truthfully. “What about you?”

“What?” Harry asked. He definitely didn’t know why there was a new Defense teacher every year. Oh, wait. Subjects. “Potions.”

Draco nodded his approval. “Severus is a very good teacher.”

“Severus?”

“Oh sorry, Professor Snape.” Draco corrected himself, with a faint blush. “He’s the Potions Master, he’s also Head of House for Slytherin.”

Harry nodded, but wasn’t able to say anything as the sliding door of the compartment burst open and someone walked in.

“Have you four seen a toad?” a girl asked, looking around. She had wild brown hair and rather large front teeth, but she had a friendly smile. “It’s Neville’s, and he’s missing.”

There was a boy behind her – Neville, Harry presumed – who was staring at the floor with a frown.

It seemed like no one was going to answer her, so Harry gave her a quick smile before shaking his head no. The girl nodded in response and promptly walked away. As soon as the doors closed behind her, Draco and Pansy let out a laugh.

“Have you seen a toad?” Pansy repeated, curling her upper lip back to emphasize her front teeth, clearly mocking the other girl.

“Has she considered looking in a mirror?” Draco suggested.

The two Slytherin-hopefuls laughed at the insinuation, while Blaise offered a half-hearted smirk.

“Did you see her hair?” Pansy shrieked, running fingers through her own sleek bob. “It’s like she’s never even heard of Sleekeazy’s.”

“She probably hasn’t.” Draco managed through a laugh, touching the perfect strands of his white blond hair. “She’s probably a muggleborn.”

“What’s wrong with being muggleborn?” Harry asked, displeased with the way they had assumed her blood status and made fun of her. Even then, it’s not like she had a choice in the matter.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Nothing really. They’re just not as good as purebloods, you see.”

“Aren’t I muggleborn?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“You were raised by muggles,” Draco allowed, with a somewhat disgusted frown. “Your parents were wizards though, so no, you’re not.”

“My mother was a muggleborn.” Harry whispered, defeated. He had been hoping Hagrid was being unfairly prejudiced towards Slytherin, especially after finding out his new friends were eager to be sorted into said house. However, he was beginning to find out that they were fairly mean after all. Just because they were pureblood, they deemed themselves better than the girl who was willing to help Neville find his toad.

“You’ve done it again.”

Harry looked up to see Blaise glaring at Draco, who was looking a little pale and staring at the floor in silence.

“I didn’t mean to insult your family.” Draco apologized to Harry. “It’s something my Father is very adamant about. Muggleborns don’t grow up the same way we do. Purebloods come from all-magical families, so we’re born into wizarding customs and have more opportunity to practice magic.”

“That doesn’t mean muggleborns are bad at magic.” Harry pointed out. “If they had the same learning opportunities, they’d be really good too.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Draco agreed, thoughtfully, but Harry got the feeling he just wished the conversation to end. 

It was silent for a few minutes, before Pansy brought up something called Quidditch. They weren’t surprised to learn Harry had never heard of it, and they all took the time to explain the beloved wizarding sport.

The dark mood in the compartment had lifted, and when the bushy-haired girl from earlier came by to ask about the toad again, Draco had managed a sort of grimacing smile and said they still hadn’t seen it.

The lunch cart came and went, and Harry had the chance to indulge in some pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes, as he never got to have dessert at the Dursleys. The conversation was friendly and comfortable, and pretty soon the train started to slow down and a dark structure began to loom in the horizon.

“There’s Hogwarts.” Pansy said, with a wistful voice.

Before Harry could take a closer look, the door to the compartment slid open again. The eldest Weasley brother stood there, adjusting the red badge on the lapel of his robes.

“We’ll be arriving at Hogwarts, soon.” he informed them, in a self-important voice. “Prefects have been told to make sure you all get into your robes.”

It was Percy then.

They nodded, and he walked away. Opening his trunk, Harry put his potions book away – he had held it in his lap the entire trip – before pulling out one of the plain black robes and eyeing the gray jumper that rested beneath it. 

“We only have to wear the robes today.” Draco answered his unspoken question. “It’s just the sorting and dinner. We have to wear our full uniforms for classes tomorrow, though.”

Harry nodded, slipping into the robe. It was soft inside, lined black where Percy’s had been a dark crimson.

“The colors change when you’re sorted.” Blaise explained.

Pretty soon, they were filing off the train with nothing but their wands. Harry noticed how those returning were grouped with others of the same colored robes, making their way towards horseless carriages. The ones in all-black robes hung back, seeming uncertain of what to do next.

“Firs’ years!” Harry heard the familiar voice. “Firs’ year’s over here!”

Turning away from the carriages, he saw Hagrid helping students onto a fleet of small boats that waited on the lake. It turned out to be Hogwarts tradition to have the first years make their way towards the school on boat. It was an incredible experience, to watch the vast castle of Hogwarts come into view. There was something simply magical about the towers that pierced through the clouds, and the way the windows lit up against the darkness of the coming night. Harry couldn’t keep the exhilarated smile off his face as he made way towards his new home.  
  
\---

Soon enough, they were standing inside the entrance hall. A stern looking witch had just explained that the sorting was about to begin, and Harry was becoming overwhelmed by his nervousness. He had overheard someone mention fighting a troll by way of getting sorted.

“Draco,” he whispered the blond’s name, attempting to get his attention. The tightness in his chest from earlier was beginning to return. “How do we get sorted?”

“They put a hat on your head,” he answered, completely serious. “It’ll shout out what house you belong in.”

Harry nodded in relief. The chattering of the students around him was becoming indiscernible. He tried to focus on one voice, to keep the tightening in his throat at bay, and ended up listening to the girl from earlier spout off about the history of Hogwarts. 

“Are you doing alright?” Draco asked him, in a soft voice.

Harry nodded, but was unable to articulate a response when a different voice caught his attention.

“Trevor!”

Looking behind him, Harry could see Neville leaping forward just in time to catch the toad he had been searching for earlier. He stood up quickly, stumbling into Draco, who in turn stumbled into another student.

“Hey, watch it!” the red-head yelled, turning around.

Draco was brushing off nonexistent dust when he glanced up and made eye contact with the youngest Weasley.

“Let me guess, another Weasley?” Draco smirked, taking in his appearance in much the same way he had done to Harry. “My father's told me about you. Does your family ever stop breeding? How did they manage to afford school for one more?”  
  
Harry frowned at the comment.  
  
“Who in the blazes do you think you are?” the boy demanded, his cheeks beginning to match the color of his hair.

Draco gave an amused smirk in response.

“Let me guess.” Weasley answered himself after a moment of deliberation. “You’re a Malfoy, aren’t you?”

“I guess you’re not as daft as the rest of your family.” Draco snickered.

“Draco, you’re being kind of mean.” Harry stage-whispered to his new friend. He genuinely liked Draco, but he was getting tired of his offhand comments. He turned to - Ron, he remembered - to apologize, but stopped when he realized the glare had been redirected to him.

“I don’t need your help.” Ron sneered, taking a step forward and curling his hand into a fist.

“What are you, some kind of muggle?” Draco asked, with a throaty laugh. He had noticed Harry flinch, odd as that was, but took a casual, protective step in front of his new friend. “Wait, I forgot. You’re a blood traitor.”

Whatever the comment meant, made Ron turn an even darker shade of red. The hall had become quiet as students noticed the confrontation taking place. The unwanted attention was making Harry tense.

“At least I’m not a Death Eater!”

“I’m not – ”

“You’re not what?” Ron taunted. “You’re exactly like your father, Malfoy, and we all know what he is.”

“He isn’t, you bloody prat.” Draco seethed. “He’s a very honorable wizard!”

“Right,” Ron laughed. “I forgot buying your way out of Azkaban – out of committing murder – makes you very honorable. Are you gonna do the same, Draco? Are you gonna destroy families just because they’re underneath you? Because you’ll get more honor if you just jumped off the highest tower.”

Harry wasn’t sure who drew their wand out first, but within seconds both he and Draco had their wand pointed at Ron’s throat. It wasn’t fully thought out, because Harry didn’t know a single spell. All he knew was that Draco was pale-faced and shaking, and he felt an overwhelming need to protect him.

Everyone was staring at them, and the silence was broken by the bushy-haired girl from the train.

“What are you doing?!” she hissed, glaring until their wands were put down. “Dueling is absolutely against the rules! You’re going to get expelled before you’re even sorted! Do any of you even _think_?!”

Harry looked down, casting a glance at Draco. He had stopped shaking, and was staring impassively at the heavy doors that led into the Great Hall.

“Sorry.” he muttered, to the girl.

She nodded in acceptance before turning to Draco. He wasn’t paying attention, having been pulled aside by Blaise who was whispering fiercely into his ear. Realizing they were a lost cause, she turned to the Weasley kid.

“Are you alright, Ron?”

“I don’t need you defending me.” he spat, stalking away.

She shrugged, returning her attention to Neville Longbottom. After a moment Draco and Blaise returned to their original spots in line. The tension faded and the students began talking quietly amongst themselves again.

This time, Harry caught Blaise’s attention. “What’s a Death Eater?” he whispered to the dark haired boy.

“They were followers of the Dark Lord.” Blaise answered simply.

He didn’t have a chance to ask more, as they were being led into the Great Hall. The room was full of students, all separated among four tables. Harry could see they were all sorted by color – by house, then. Another table sat behind them, where the teachers all sat expectantly. An older wizard with long white hair and a beard to match sat in the center of the table in swirling purple robes.

“That’s Professor Dumbledore!” Harry exclaimed quietly, remembering the face he had seen winking on the card Blaise had received with his Chocolate Frog.

Draco nodded, shushing him.

They formed a line at the front of the Great Hall, where a frayed looking hat sat on a stool. Before Harry could silently comment on its anticlimactic appearance, the rip along the brim opened and the hat began to sing, of all things. 

Harry was thrown off by the hat’s ability to perform solo pieces that he nearly missed what it was singing in the first place. He managed to catch the last few verses, where the hat gave a brief description of the four houses.

 _“You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave of heart. Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindor’s apart._  
_You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal. Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil._  
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you’ve a ready mind, where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind._  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin, you’ll make your real friends. Those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends.”_

Harry decided that he wouldn’t mind what house he ended up in, as the song made all the houses sound equally pleasant. One by one, the students were called to the stool where Professor McGonagall placed the hat upon their heads. Some were sorted instantly, and some took a few minutes.

The bushy-haired girl, who Harry learned was named Hermione Granger ended up in Gryffindor, as did Neville Longbottom. When Draco was called, the hat yelled out “Slytherin!” without a moment’s hesitation and he strode towards the green table with tangible pride in his step. Pansy joined him a moment later.

“Potter, Harry!” Professor McGonagall called out.

The room seemed to fall silent before breaking out in a cacophony of whispers.  
  
“Did she say Harry Potter?” “THE Harry Potter?” “The Boy Who Lived?” He saw Ron do a double-take from his place in line, and Harry felt his palms sweat. The bloody tightness came back and he found himself struggling for breath as he took rigid steps toward the stool and the sorting hat.

Sitting down, he chanced a glance of the Great Hall, before stopping on the red-haired figures of the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table. They shot him a big smile and a thumbs-up, and Harry could make out the mouthed instruction of “breathe” before the Sorting Hat was placed on top of his head.

He did just that, and waited silently. It was a never ending pause before a strange voice startled his thoughts. “Hmm, difficult,” the voice pondered. “Very difficult. Not a bad mind…a need to prove yourself…but still cautious…you would do very well in Gryffindor. Likewise, in Slytherin…but where to put you?”

He waited.

“What is it that you desire?” the hat continued, mulling him over. “Do you want to prove yourself? To be seen as a hero?”

Harry shook his head. “I want to be just Harry.” he admitted, truthfully.

“Yet, you’re still daring. You want to achieve great things…self-reliant…but heedful to your surroundings and protective of those who matter. Slytherin will still help you on your way to greatness,” the hat promised. “but it will surround you by a family like no other.”

Harry nodded. It sounded rather nice. Besides, if he ended up in the same house as Ron (which given that the entirety of his siblings were Gryffindor, it seemed likely he would end up there too), Harry didn’t think he’d fare very well in that house.

“In that case,” the hat chuckled at his internal comment. “BETTER BE SLYTHERIN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Credit: And The Snakes Start To Sing; Bring Me The Horizon
> 
> *raises a glass of butterbeer*  
> Here's to hoping I do the story ideas in my head justice, as this is the first time I've written anything Harry Potter-based.
> 
> [Minor editing has been done since this chapter's original posting.]


	2. Welcome to Slytherin.

If there was ever a moment when Harry wished he could disappear, it was this exact one. The silence in the Great Hall was deafening. Just as he felt like he would suffocate and die from the tension in the room, the silence was broken by the scraping of a bench being pushed back.  
  
Looking up, Harry smiled to himself as he saw Draco Malfoy stand up and clap for his new housemate. After a moment, the rest of Slytherin was applauding the newest addition to their house.  
  
There was obvious disappointment in the room, and Harry kept his head down as he made his way towards the green-clad table and took a seat next to Draco.  
  
Once the last of the students had been sorted, with Ron Weasley going to Gryffindor and Blaise joining their own table, Draco turned to Harry with a smirk. “Welcome to the Den of the Snakes, Potter.”  
  
Harry smiled faintly.  
  
In the front of the room, the Headmaster had stood up and introduced himself to the new students. He gave a very friendly welcome with fierce reminders to stay away from both the Forbidden Forest and the third floor corridor – unless you wanted to “meet your untimely death.”  
  
It made Harry very uncomfortable. He glanced at the rest of the staff table, trying to discern their reactions towards the Headmaster’s speech. As he recognized the man with a purple turban as the professor he met at The Leaky Cauldron, Harry made brief eye contact with the professor on the former's left. He felt a shard of pain pierce the right side of his forehead.  
   
“Are you okay?” Blaise whispered across the table, eyeing the way Harry scrunched up his face in pain.  
   
“Yeah.” Harry nodded, the hurt subsiding. He was staring curiously at the professor besides Professor Quirrell, the teachers face hidden by a curtain of black hair. “Just a bit of a headache.”  
   
He filed the moment away to deal with later.  
   
“Well, don’t worry.” Draco assured him. “Dinner will be served in just a few moments – once Dumbledore finishes his speech, anyway.”  
   
The elderly Headmaster was explaining what the house cup was and how important house pride and loyalty were.  
   
“- and with that, I invite you all to dig in!” Professor Dumbledore finished with a snap of his fingers and sat down in a flourish.  
   
There was a sprinkling of gasps throughout the room, as silver platters magically appeared in the middle of the table. There were frosty pitchers of water and an orange colored drink, baskets of rosemary bread, and plenty of covered dishes housing things like roasted chicken and braised beef.  
   
“Oh, wow.” Harry breathed, lifting the lid to the closest pot. He was greeted with the fragrant aroma of stewed tomatoes and cream.  
   
Bringing his bowl closer, he ladled himself a portion of light-colored soup and some of the bread. Having never tried rosemary before, Harry was absolutely delighted at the sweet and almost earthy taste of the herb.  
   
“What’s that?” he asked Draco, who had poured himself a glass of the aforementioned juice.  
   
“Pumpkin juice.” the blond informed him, offering the pitcher.  
   
Eyeing the opaque and almost milky juice doubtfully, Harry poured himself a small measure of the curious drink. It was thick and tasted almost like apple juice and cinnamon, which was nice, but a tad too sweet.  
  
Blaise laughed, after Harry offered his opinion. “You can add a little water if you want, but you'll get used to it soon."   
   
The suggestion helped, and the mulled pumpkin cider became more pleasing. After filling his plate with some of the chicken and fried potatoes, Harry was introduced to the other first years in Slytherin house.  
   
“A lot of us grew up together, so let me introduce you.” Draco offered, putting on airs. “This –” he pointed to a thin boy with light colored hair and glasses – “is Theodore Nott.”  
   
“Theo.” the boy interrupted, with a wary smile.  
   
“Right.” Draco nodded, moving on to a heavy-set girl with dark hair and thick lashes. “This is Millicent Bulstrode.”  
   
“Daphne Greengrass.” a pretty girl with curly hair and pink lips introduced herself, with a coy smile and a wink.  
   
The blonde with brown eyes who gave an indifferent shrug in greeting was Tracey Davis, and the two fellows at the end with full plates were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.  
   
“So, you’re Harry Potter.” Daphne commented, as way of initiating a conversation. “I didn’t expect you to be in Slytherin.”  
   
“I don’t think anyone did.” Harry laughed awkwardly. He knew his parents had been in Gryffindor, but he wasn’t his parents.  
   
“I can tell.”  
   
Despite the chatter throughout the Great Hall, several students were stealing apprehensive glances at the famous Boy Who Lived from their seats, trying to fathom what happened for the Savior of the Wizarding World to end up in _Slytherin.  
  
_ “Is it because this is the supposed dark house?” Harry asked suddenly, remembering both Hagrid’s warning and Ron’s accusation.  
   
“Maybe they think you’re going to become a Death Eater.” Crabbe supplied.  
   
“Whatever happens, we won’t let you become the next dark lord.” Blaise promised, with an amused glint in his eyes. “Snakes protect snakes.”  
   
“Always.”  
  
\---  
  
“- and so concludes the Welcoming Feast!” the Headmaster stood up, addressing the student body. “Prefects, if you could show the first years to their Common Rooms, I bid you all goodnight. Class timetables will be handed out during breakfast tomorrow morning, so don’t be late."  
  
Harry put down the spoon he had been using to swirl through the melted vanilla ice cream on his plate. He hadn’t expected there to be dessert, and had filled himself up on the buttery potatoes and creamy soup.  
   
“Were you not hungry?” Blaise asked, as they stood up and ambled towards a pair of fifth year students garnering their attention.  
   
“What?” Harry asked, momentarily confused. “I ate so much, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand.”  
  
Blaise gave him a strange look, but didn’t say anything. Deciding it wasn’t worth further consideration, Harry followed the rest of the young Slytherins towards a stone staircase. They went down two flights of stairs and crossed a long hallway.  
   
As they passed a dark wooden door, the girl prefect gestured towards it. “That’s the potions classroom. Professor Snape doesn’t like it when we’re late, so remember where it is.”  
   
As they reached the end of the hallway, they turned left, then right, and were led down another staircase. It was getting noticeably colder, and Harry hoped they would reach the common room soon or he would never be able to find it again.  
  
They all stopped, rather abruptly, at a blank expanse of stone wall.  
   
“I want everyone to find a spot in the common room, as we have a meeting to attend to.” the girl from earlier spoke up. “Aconite!”  
   
To their amazement, a span of the stone bricks shimmered and a doorway appeared. It opened into a dimly lit room, with high stone walls and dark windows. There was a burning fireplace, casting off a warm glow, with a large tapestry of the Slytherin crest hanging above it.  
  
The room contained comfortable looking black couches fitted with dark green pillows and low tables sitting on soft rugs. There were bookcases against one wall, filled with books and scrolls of spare parchment. There was a cold cupboard near the windows, and a table housing an emerald tea set. The room was dark and elegant, and Harry fell completely in love with it.  
   
Sharing the loveseat with Draco, Harry ran his fingers through the soft material of the couch as the prefects waited for all the first years to find a seat. It was a bit chilly, despite the fireplace, and Harry wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. To his delight, he found that his previously plain robes were now lined with a deep emerald.  
   
The two prefects were standing in front of the fireplace, the flames giving them an ethereal glow. The girl was very attractive, with light streaked hair and a thin nose.   
   
“Alright, well, congratulations and a delightful welcome to Slytherin House!” she started, clasping her hands together and eyeing her new wards. “I’m Prefect Gemma Farley, fifth year student, and homework club organizer.”  
   
“I’m Prefect Terrence Higgs.” the other introduced himself, a tall boy with an athletic built. “Also a fifth year, and Beater for the Slytherin Quidditch Team.”  
   
“This is the Slytherin Common Room.” Gemma continued. “It’s actually underneath the Black Lake, which is why it’s always colder than we’d all like, but I like to think it gives off the aura of a mysterious, underwater shipwreck. There are a few myths we want to dispel. You might have heard rumors about Slytherin House – that we’re all into the Dark Arts and that we won’t talk to you if you’re not from a pureblood line. I want you to forget all of that. I’ll admit we’ve produced our fair share of dark wizards, but so have the other houses – they just don’t want to admit to it."  
   
“Here’s a little-known fact that the other three houses don’t bring up much.” Terrence began. “Merlin was a Slytherin. Yes, Merlin himself, the most famous wizard in history! He learned all he knew in this very house! Do you want to follow in the footsteps of Merlin? Or would you rather sit at the old desk of that illustrious ex-Hufflepuff, Eglantine Puffett, inventor of the Self-Soaping Dishcloth? I didn’t think so.”  
   
“But that’s enough about what we’re not.” Gemma interrupted with an amused smirk. “Let’s talk about what we are, which is the coolest and edgiest house in this school. We play to win, because we care about the honor and traditions of Slytherin.”  
   
“We also get respect from our fellow students” Terrence informed them. “Yes, some of that respect might be tinged with fear, because of our Dark reputation, but you know what? It can be fun, having a reputation for walking on the wild side. Chuck out a few hints that you’ve got access to a whole library of curses, and see whether anyone feels like nicking your quill.”  
   
A few of the students chuckled.  
  
“But we’re not bad people.” Gemma explained.  “We’re like our emblem, the snake: sleek, powerful, and frequently misunderstood. For instance, we Slytherins look after our own – which is more than you can say for Ravenclaw.”  
   
“Yeah, apart from being the biggest bunch of swots you ever met, Ravenclaws are famous for clambering over each other to get good marks, whereas we Slytherins are brothers.” Terrence interrupted, yet again.  “As far as we’re concerned, once you’ve become a snake, you’re one of ours – one of the elite.”  
   
“Because you know what Salazar Slytherin looked for in his chosen students?” Gemma asked, eyeing all the intrigued first years. “The seeds of greatness. You’ve been chosen by this house because you’ve got the potential to be great. You might see a couple of people hanging around the common room whom you might not think are destined for anything special, but remember: if the Sorting Hat put them in here, there’s something great about them, and don’t you forget it.”  
   
“And talking of people who aren’t destined for greatness, I haven’t mentioned the Gryffindors.” Terrence brought up, getting a playful glare from Gemma and soft laughter from the students. They were all enjoying the meeting. “Now, a lot of people say that Slytherins and Gryffindors represent two sides of the same coin. Personally, I think Gryffindors are nothing more than wannabe Slytherins. Mind you, some people say that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor prized the same kinds of students, so perhaps we are more similar than we like to think. But that doesn’t mean that we cozy up with Gryffindors. They like beating us only slightly less than we like beating them.”  
   
“A few more things you might need to know: our house ghost is the Bloody Baron. If you get on the right side of him he’ll sometimes agree to frighten people for you. Just don’t ask him how he got bloodstained; he doesn’t like it.”  
  
"The password to the common room changes every fortnight, so keep an eye on the noticeboard. Don’t tell anyone the password, or bring anyone else here. As far as we’re aware, no other house knows where our common room is.”  
  
“Let’s try to keep it that way.” a new voice interrupted, smooth and baritone. “No other house has entered the Slytherin dungeons in almost seven hundred years.”  
   
“Professor!” Gemma exclaimed, as a tall man in dark robes stepped through the doorway of the common room. Both prefects stepped aside as the man walked towards the students, robes billowing.  
   
Harry glanced warily at the professor, from underneath his fringe, but his scar didn't tingle again.  
   
“Welcome to Slytherin House.” he began, in a soft and elegant voice. “I am Professor Snape, resident Potions Master and the Head of Slytherin. I’m sure the prefects have done an exemplary job at informing you of all the workings of Slytherin, but there are a few things I’d like to approach."  
   
The professor glanced around the room, taking a moment to stare curiously at Harry Potter. Like everyone else, he couldn’t begin to comprehend how the famous Boy Who Lived ended up a snake.  
   
While his feelings toward the Potter heir were largely undecided, he still had a duty to his students – a duty he intended to fulfill, regardless of who they were.  
   
“We are more than just a house, we are the equivalent of a family.” Professor Snape dictated. “And such, should always present a united front to the other houses. Snakes are loyal to each other and I wish it not to be made obvious of any inter-house rivalries.  
  
He continued quietly, almost sadly.  
  
“You may find yourself the target of the other houses, and it would be in your best interest to keep your fellow serpents on your side, as no one else will stand behind us. That being said, if you are to find yourself in an unfortunate predicament with a member of a different house – or even your own, do not hesitate to seek out the prefects or myself – that’s what we are here for. If you choose to take matters into your own hands,” he paused, looking around the room with a warning glare. “Do not get caught.”  
  
Everyone nodded, simultaneously enthralled and afraid.  
  
“Good.” Professor Snape smiled an amused smirk. “Slytherin has a reputation for being cunning and ambitious – do not taint this reputation. You are expected to perform diligently and never settle. Create relationships amongst your peers and look out for each other. Hogwarts will be your home for the better part of the next seven years, so you might as well do your best to enjoy them."  
  
\---  
  
The next morning, they were awakened by a delicate ringing sound, which sounded off for nearly a minute before stopping altogether.  
  
“What time is it?” Harry mumbled sleepily, rolling over on his bed. He brought the dark green comforter up to his chin and peered at the faint light streaming through his parted curtains.  
  
“I’m assuming it’s seven.” Blaise’s muffled voice grumbled out. “That’s when the prefects said the alarm would go off."  
  
“It’s a lot nicer than the one at the Dursleys.” Harry yawned, sitting up and stretching. The “alarm” back home was really just Aunt Petunia screaming his name and Dudley stomping on the staircase.  
  
“It would be a lot nicer if you both shut up.” Draco’s irritated voice mumbled through the thick curtains of his bed.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Opening the small drawer of the bedside table, Harry pulled out the muggle notebook and pen he had tucked away last night. He had very little form of entertainment while living at the Dursleys, and had found solace in drawing.   
  
After spending some time sketching the outline of Hogwarts castle from memory, there was a brisk knock on the bedroom door.  
  
Blaise answered, and Harry could see he was already dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, his green and silver tie perfectly knotted at the base of his throat.  
  
“Morning, Higgs.”  
  
“Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes.” Prefect Terrence said as way of greeting. “I don’t want you to miss it. The alarms only go off once, and sometimes students fall back asleep.”  
  
“Oh, thanks.”  
  
“Do you visit with all the students?” Harry asked, wondering what Prefect duties entailed.  
  
“Not unless I feel there’s something that needs to be discussed.” Higgs answered, eyeing Harry’s bedhead and pajamas. “We will the first few days, until you learn the _Tempus_ charm.”  
   
“What’s the tempus charm?” Harry asked.  
   
“It’s the time charm.” Draco answered, pulling his curtains back. He was dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, strands of blond hair falling over his forehead. “So you can know what time it is.”  
   
“Anyway,” Terrence continued. “You can’t actually be late to breakfast, unless you miss it altogether, but timetables are being handed out this morning.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
Terrence left then, leaving the three first years to finish getting dressed.  
   
Harry got dressed in his new uniform – an outfit consisting of black slacks, a white button up, and a dark gray jumper. He had a new pair of dragonhide boots and his green and silver tie. After several tries hopelessly knotting the soft fabric, Draco sighed exasperatedly.  
  
“Let me do it.” he insisted, undoing the knot.   
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“I’ll teach you how to do it later.” Draco promised, as they went to the bathroom to brush their teeth and comb their hair.  
  
When they were all dressed, Harry grabbed a robe from his armoire at the foot of his bed and found that a patch with the Slytherin emblem had been sewn onto the lapel.  
  
“Oh, look!”  
  
“The house elves must have done it last night.” Draco shrugged impassively, tying on his shoes.  
  
“What are house elves?” Harry asked, remembering it being mentioned on the train yesterday by the brothers Weasley.  
  
“I swear to Merlin.” Draco shook his head. “I'm beginning to feel like I befriended a hippogriff in disguise.”  
  
Harry frowned.  
  
“Oh, for goodness sakes.” Draco laughed, slipping into his own robe. “A house elf is like a servant. They’re small, strange little creatures with huge eyes and long ears – they’re a bit of a fright, to be perfectly honest. They do all the housework and cooking, and are usually employed to old, Wizarding families. Hogwarts has a whole lot of them working here.”  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
“Hippogriffs are some kind of dumb bird.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
They grabbed their bookbags, slipped their wands into their robe pockets, and made their way out of the dungeons and back to the Great Hall.  
  
There were a handful of students sitting at their respective tables, helping themselves from the heated silver platters. The staff table was manned by Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, who were seated together in deep conversation.  
  
“Good morning.” Harry greeted the other first years.  
  
“Morning, Harry.”  
  
He sat down next to Theo, with Blaise on his other side. Draco and Pansy were seated across from him.  
  
There was a smaller spread than last night, but there were chilled platters of cut fruit and labeled teapots scattered throughout the table. Harry helped himself to some of the fruit, as the Dursley's never let him eat the fruit unless it had gone soft.   
  
He was in the middle of savoring the taste of fresh strawberry, when he reached blindly for the small pitcher of cream. He found the handle and brought it forward, only to knock over his teacup.  
  
“Harry!” Pansy shrieked, standing up as hot tea spread across the tabletop and dripped onto her lap.  
  
“I-I’m sorry!” Harry stuttered, dropping the cream and standing up. He was desperately trying to mop up the sticky Earl Gray and thick cream with his cloth napkin. “I-it was an accident.”  
  
The surrounding Slytherins had jumped up to avoid the tea and were watching him quietly. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his forehead glistening with sweat. Shaking hands were making it difficult to clean properly – and he ended up knocking over Draco’s glass of pumpkin juice.  
  
“Oh, no.” he whispered, his chest tightening. The older Slytherin students had begun to notice and Gemma had gotten up from her seat and was walking towards him.  
  
Growing up with the Dursleys, Harry knew of only one form of punishment. As the prefect approached, he panicked and attempted to run out of the Great Hall.  
  
“Not so fast, Mr. Potter.” a hand grasped his shoulder, stopping his exit. Professor Snape was standing behind him, with a stern expression.  
  
Besides him, Gemma was pointing her wand at the mix of spilled drink with a delicate, “ _Tergeo_.”  
  
With the tabletop now cleaned, the Slytherins returned to their breakfast with the exception of Gemma Farley and Draco.  
  
The boy was in the midst of a panic, unaware that he was leaning against his Head of House as gasps of air rushed through this chest.  
  
“Harry?” Draco’s voice broke through his frazzled breaths as he appeared in his direct line of sight. “Hey, what’s wrong?”  
  
“Can’t. Breathe.” Harry ground out.  
  
Draco paled. “What? What do you mean you can’t breathe?”  
  
He switched his worried gaze to Professor Snape, who was still holding Harry’s shoulder, silently demanding that he do something.  
  
In response, Snape guided Harry out of the Great Hall.  
  
“Return to your breakfast, Mr. Malfoy.” the professor ordered. He raised an eyebrow at Draco’s momentary defiance. “I will return him to you in one piece.”  
  
When Draco began to walk away – albeit hesitantly, Snape turned towards his favorite prefect. “Ms. Farley, if you could bring me a calming draught from my stores. I believe a Draught of Peace will suffice.”  
  
She nodded, and left.  
  
When they were both out of hearing range, Severus turned to his shaking student. “Breathe, Mr. Potter.” he instructed. "It's just the two of us now.”  
   
Harry took in a shaky breath. “I didn’t m-mean to spill th-th – ”  
   
“Spill the tea?” Snape supplied, raising an eyebrow. “Is that really something to cause such hysteria over?”  
  
Snape winced mentally at his word choice, as Harry shrugged out of his touch and took a step backwards.  
  
“Tell me, Mr. Potter.” Snape tried a different, more direct approach. “Do you often get panic attacks?”  
  
“Sometimes.” Harry admitted, staring at the ground.  
  
Snape stared pensively, trying to find the best way to have this conversation. He wasn’t the best for sentimental conversations. He guided Harry into an empty classroom and directed him into a chair.  
  
Sitting down, Severus stared at the boy. His dark hair was messy and curled erratically, in much the same way as James Potter's. This was James’ offspring, the spawn of all things arrogant and Gryffindor. The son of a classless, boisterous prat.   
  
Yet, here he was, Lily’s child, shaking softly as he drew invisible patterns on the hem of his jumper. He was reminded of a different time, when he was much younger. Of a time when a ten-year-old Lily would grow breathless and teary-eyed after Petunia had called her a freak and despicable.  
  
He was reminded of a time when he would hug the shaking red-head close, whispering kind words in her ear.  
  
As Harry looked up and caught his gaze, Severus stared into the green eyes he thought he’d never see brim with life again. With that notion, Severus was taken back to another time, a more painful time.  
  
“Professor?” Gemma’s voice broke through the slew of memories past. “I apologize for taking a minute, I couldn't find you.”  
  
“Not a problem, Ms. Farley.” Severus composed himself, reaching for the small vial of potion Gemma was holding out to him. “You may return to your breakfast now."  
   
As she left, Harry stared warily at the thin phial of blue potion, watching as Professor Snape swirled its contents before uncorking it and handing it over.  
  
“Drink.” he instructed quietly.  
  
“What is it?” Harry asked, bringing the phial to his mouth and wrinkling his nose at the smell; it was rather unpleasant.  
  
“Draught of Peace.” Severus answered, in his “teaching voice”, for this was something he could handle. “It’s a brew of hellebore syrup, porcupine quill, moonstone, and valerian root, amongst a few other things. It’s a potion you will learn to brew in your sixth year.”  
  
He nodded, drinking the measure quickly.  
  
The boy visibly relaxed and the anxiety flitting across his eyes calmed down.  
  
“Are you ready to return to the Great Hall?” he asked his charge, sighing when the boy shook his head rapidly. “Very well, we shall have breakfast here. Mimsey!”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened as a small creature suddenly appeared besides them. It was about three feet tall, with bulging eyes and pointed ears – a house elf, Harry realized with a start. It was draped in a clean towel, with the Hogwarts crest on the hem.  
  
“Master Potions Master has summoned Mimsey, sir?” the house elf asked, in a squeaky voice. It was one of the few house elves Severus was familiar with.   
  
“Mimsey, please inform Ms. Farley that she needs to pass out the terms’ timetables – Minerva will have them - and if you could kindly serve us breakfast.”  
  
“Yes, Master Potions Master.” the elf nodded, disappearing with the faintest _pop_.  
  
“So that’s a house elf.” Harry said, in bewilderment.  
  
“Yes.” Severus pocketed the empty phial. “It would do you well to remember that students are not permitted to call for house elves.”  
   
“Yes, sir.”  
   
Mimsey reappeared with a covered serving platter. She didn’t say anything, but set the tray on the desk and disappeared.  
   
Lifting the lid, they were greeted with a steaming kettle of tea, a plate of warm english muffins, and various dishes of toppings. It was the kind of breakfast Severus usually had, simple and minimal.  
   
“I don’t normally have much.” Severus explained, as way of apologizing. He normally spent late nights brewing potions for the infirmary or grading papers that he tended to sleep in. “If you’d prefer more –”  
  
“This is fine, sir.” Harry interrupted. “I’m not used to having much for breakfast either.”  
  
Snape appraised the younger Potter, and shook his head – he seemed close to underweight. Deciding to keep an eye on him during mealtimes, he poured out two cups of tea.  
  
Harry spread a hearty amount of softened butter and orange marmalade on his muffin, eyeing his cup of tea dutifully.  
  
“What caused the moment of panic?” Snape asked his student, after they had both had a chance to eat some. “Surely it can’t be just because you knocked over a drink.”  
  
“Pansy was screaming and everyone was staring. I tried to clean it up, but I got so anxious, I knocked over someone’s pumpkin juice.”  
  
“Why did you attempt run out?” he asked, watching the way Harry held onto his new teacup with two hands.  
  
“Gemma was coming over to us.” Harry shrugged meekly. “I thought I was going to be in trouble.”  
  
“That was a reason to flee?” Severus asked in distaste. “You didn’t want to be scolded in front of everyone?”  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“Inter-house problems remain inter-house.” Snape reminded him. “If, for some reason, Prefect Gemma had the intent to scold you, she would have done so in private.”  
  
“I know.” Harry mumbled, clearly lying. “I just, I forgot.”  
  
He was staring at his lap, visibly stressed about the conversation.  
  
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Severus observed, taking a long sip of his tea. It was earthy and strong, as he preferred it.  
  
Again, Harry shrugged.   
  
“Mr. Potter.” Severus began, trying to remind himself to be patient. His silence was becoming frustrating. “What did you think was going to happen?”  
  
Harry didn’t answer, but his eyes were swimming with all the answers Severus needed. He wouldn’t call it Legilimency per se, not if the boy was an open book. Feeling almost guilty, Severus tested a theory that was forming in his head; a theory that would help explain why Harry Potter seemed so withdrawn and hesitant.

It worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Minor editing has been done since this chapter's original posting.]


	3. Flying Lessons.

It was a very uncomfortable breakfast, sitting across from the potions professor in an empty classroom. He was being asked questions he didn’t want to answer, and while the potion had eased his anxiety, he was still tense.  
  
Professor Snape was eyeing him over his teacup with an intense expression, the attention making him restless. He just wanted his friends. While Draco seemed to be a bit of a prat, he was safe.  
  
Blaise was safe.  
  
The common room was safe.  
  
Thinking it over, even if Harry felt uncomfortable dining with his Head of House, it was a different form of uncomfortable. It was the social awkwardness of being around someone new. It wasn’t the fear of being near someone who could – and would – hurt you.  
  
Aunt Petunia wasn’t safe, and neither was his Uncle Vernon or his cousin. They were the sort of people you needed to be cautious around. It was a rather insidious household, and Harry had learned to be heedful of the warning signs.  
  
He was broken from his thoughts when he saw a hand reach towards him. He couldn’t help the flinch that had been instilled into him, from years of backhanded strikes whenever he made his guardians unhappy.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape drawled, picking his teacup back up and staring at him impassively. Harry couldn’t read the emotion on his stoic face, couldn’t decide if he was safe like Blaise.  
  
It was an altogether awkward meal, as they were both wary of each other. Being Head of Slytherin, Severus realized once, was emotionally draining. He often came across students with unfortunate backgrounds, and while he had excelled at picking up signs of abuse, he had never learned how to tread forward.  
  
What were you supposed to say?  
  
Even with his own experience, Severus still didn’t know what to say to bring comfort to his snakes. He was a very guarded person, and rarely brought down those defenses.  
  
As Harry curled into himself even more, Severus sighed. He had suffered his own trauma, his own abuse. His closet was so full of skeletons, the door refused to close, and while he wasn’t doing the best, he was doing _his_ best, because Severus Snape was a Slytherin damn it, and Slytherins were resilient. If Harry Potter truly belonged with the snakes, then he would be okay too.  
  
\---  
  
“You should find Draco.” Snape advised, pulling out his wand and casting a silent _Tempus_ charm. “It’s almost time for class.”  
  
Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. He stood up and gave his Head of House an awkward sort of smile. “Thank you, sir.”  
  
Snape nodded briskly, whispering a quick _Ev_ _anesco_ over their dirty breakfast dishes before facing his charge. “You can always come to me if you need help, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry stared at the professor a bit warily. He wanted to trust him, he wanted to stop dealing with everything all alone, but it was his own experience that showed him that adults couldn't be trusted. He bit his lip, offering Professor Snape a half-smile. Perhaps he could give him a chance - after all, Snape hadn't met the Dursley's yet, and the Dursley's made it their purpose to feed everyone lies about Harry and make them hate him.   
  
As he exited the classroom, he was mildly surprised to see Draco waiting against the outside wall. He was holding their respective bags and clutching two sheets of paper to his chest.  
  
“Draco?”  
  
The blond jumped at the voice, shaken out of his thoughts. He turned to Harry with a worried smile and handed him one of the papers. “Oh, there you are.”  
  
It turned out to be his timetable, and after studying it for a short minute, they headed towards their first ever magical class. As they maneuvered through moving staircases and gossiping portraits, Draco kept shooting Harry these looks of sympathetic worry and questioning.  
  
“What?” Harry asked tersely, as they entered the classroom. There were a few students in green and red robes – it appeared they were sharing this class with the Gryffindors.  
  
“Are you doing alright?” Draco asked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
It was a hollow answer, but it was the one Draco would want to hear. They chose a pair of desks near the front of the room and pulled out their Transfiguration textbooks. There was a note on the chalkboard instructing them to read the introductory paragraph of their book.  
  
They were silent for a few minutes as they skimmed the text, both having already read the pages before class.  
  
“What happened with Professor Snape?” the blond asked, some minutes later. There were whispered conversations throughout the room, as class hadn’t officially been started yet.  
  
“We had breakfast.” Harry shrugged. “We talked.”  
  
“Did it help?”  
  
He took a moment to contemplate the question. “I suppose.”  
  
“It was a panic attack, wasn’t it?”  
  
Feeling slightly self-conscious, Harry chose to not answer. He stared ahead, finding an unrealistic interest in the dust motes streaming across the window.  
  
Draco frowned, miffed that he wasn’t getting an answer.   
  
Professor McGonagall started the lesson then, a charmed piece of chalk writing the principles of transfiguration on the board. They were supposed to be copying down the notes.  
  
As Draco spelled out the first incantation they were expected to try, he glanced over at Harry’s hunched form. The professor was watching everyone with a stern glare, already having admonished two different students for talking. He shook his ink bottle, feigning a puzzled look at the full container.  
  
He leaned down, reaching into his bag and rummaged around for another ink pot. “I've had one before.” he whispered nonchalantly, as he was facing away from McGonagall. “A panic attack. It was really scary.”   
  
Harry stared at him with wide eyes, an almost relief washing over him. He had been worried Draco would judge him, that the other Slytherins would judge him. Yet, here he was, being assured by the Malfoy heir that he wasn’t a freak.  
  
It was the first time anyone had ever confided such a thing to him. Draco could come off as a bit pretentious, but he wasn’t a bad friend. As he reached under the table to grasp the other boy's hand in friendly reassurance, Harry smiled. No, Harry decided, Draco was definitely not a bad friend.  
  
They were instructed to pull out their wands and attempt to turn the matchstick sitting in front of them into a needle.  
  
“The incantation,” Professor McGonagall was saying “is pronounced  _Compositi Verto_ , and you must do it with focus and objective. Transfiguration spells are not a matter of pointing and repeating a learned phrase, but rather of the intent.”  
  
It was a rather lengthy class, full of jumbled variations of the spell, and by the end of it, Hermione Granger was the only student from both houses who had managed to do it perfectly. Draco had managed to turn it into the shape of a needle, thin and with a hollow eye, but it was still made of wood.  
  
They were assigned the review questions at the end of the chapter for homework.  
  
“Good job.” Harry whispered to Draco, as they packed their school supplies and headed towards lunch. The class had lasted almost the entire morning, but no one had really noticed.  
  
“Thanks. I think I could have done it perfectly if I had just a little more time.”  
  
“Well, I didn’t even come close to you.”  
  
“You’ll get it.” Draco promised, reaching into his pocket. “Here, I wanted to show you this.”  
  
“What is it?” Harry asked, taking the figurine. It was a crystal snake filled with a pale green liquid, trapped in a glass sphere.  
  
“It’s something my mother sent me this morning.” Draco replied admiringly. “She forgot to give it to me before I got on the train – it’s a little token to Slytherin and she had meant it as a good luck charm.”  
  
“It’s beautiful.” Harry smiled, bringing it closer to his face so he could study it. There were even scales etched into the snake’s body. “It looks breakable.”  
  
Draco nodded worriedly. “I think I’m going to keep it on my bedside table. I don’t want anything happening to it.”  
  
Harry agreed. “What's that smell?" he asked, as he caught the curious scent of grass trimmings.   
  
“That’s vetiver oil!” Draco informed him, excitedly. “That’s what’s inside the snake’s body. It’s used in mind-focusing potions.”  
  
“Neat.”  
  
Harry handed it back to Draco. They went to sit at their usual spots at the Slytherin table with Theo and Blaise, helping themselves to buttery Cornish pasties and pumpkin juice, which Harry had found to be not as bad, after all.   
  
\--  
  
The rest of the week passed in a fairly similar manner as their first Transfiguration class, with part of the lesson dedicated to notes and theory and the remainder to practical. The only real disappointment had been Defense Against the Dark Arts which, much to Draco’s disappointment, had been entirely theory.  
  
“Well, it’s only the first week.” Blaise pointed out, skimming over his crumpled timetable. “Perhaps next week will be better.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t understand why they don’t give first years maps.” Blaise complained, following a roughly drawn sketch of the hallways he had made on the back of his timetable. “I think we turn left at the end of this hallway.”  
  
They turned left and came across a staircase. “Alright, we need to go down…three flights.” Blaise nodded decisively, reading the note he had written down for himself. “That should take us near the Potions classroom – and we know how to get to the Common Room from there.”  
  
“Do you think it’s going to be cold out?” Draco asked, running a hand along the banister. “Should we bring our scarves?”  
  
It was Thursday afternoon, and the Slytherin first years had a free period before they were expected at the Quidditch pitch for flying lessons.  
  
“We’re expected to defy gravity and fly on _broomsticks_.” Harry said, somewhat astonished. “And you’re worried about it being cold?”  
  
“I’ve flown before, Harry.” Draco laughed, nodding his head at a portrait of a rich-looking baron. “It’s quite fun.”  
  
“Fun.” Harry repeated, doubtfully.  
  
“Trust me, when you finally get u –” Draco stopped, looking around the hallway they had gotten off at. “Blaise, this isn’t the Potions corridor.”  
  
Blaise thrust the sheet of paper at Draco’s face. “Does this look like an actual map to you, Malfoy?”  
  
“No, but you’re clearly awful at writing down directions.”  
  
“If you think you’d do better, why don’t you make the map next time?”  
  
Draco huffed in annoyance and led his friends down the hallway. “I don’t think we’ve been here before.”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
“It’s cold in here.” Harry pointed out, drawing his cloak tighter around himself.  
  
“Oh no, Harry’s cold!” Draco said in mock-horror. “Whatever shall we do? Blaise, quick, give him your cloak.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant, you twit.” Harry laughed, lightly shoving Draco. “I meant, we’re definitely in the dungeons. We just need to find the _right_ part of the dungeons.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
The trio came across two doors and then a dead end. “Should we go back up the staircase?” Harry asked, looking around. “Wait, where’s the staircase?”  
  
There was nothing but a blank wall where the staircase had once been, and there seemed to be no other way out of this corridor.  
  
“Oh, Merlin, we’re trapped!”  
  
“Calm down, Draco.” Blaise muttered, running his hand against the blank expanse of wall. “We’re inside a school full of moving staircases – perhaps it’ll come back if we wait.”  
  
“Should we check what the other doorways are?” Harry suggested nervously, eyeing a large wooden door. He didn’t like the idea of there being no way out.  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
Harry and Draco approached the first door, while Blaise kept watch for the disappearing staircase. As they stepped into the dimly-lit room, Harry felt the slightest tickle of magic rush over him.  
  
“What was that?” he asked Draco, shivering.  
  
“What was what?"  
  
Harry was about to explain, when he caught sight of the room’s contents. There were shelves lining the walls, lined with glass jars and bottles, boxes covered in varying layers of dust, and a pile of books.  
  
“Thestral blood?” Harry read a label, wrinkling his nose. “Acromantula venom?”  
  
“Dragon’s blood!” Draco exclaimed. “These are pretty expensive potions ingredients! No wonder they’re kept over here.”  
  
Harry was leafing through a stack of books. “The Potion of Eternity,” he read aloud. “Elixirs of Life and Death. Alchemist’s Kitchen: Extraordinary Potions and Curious Notions. Planets, Potions, and Parchment. These seem kind of interesting.”  
  
“Look at these flowers.” Draco was saying, gesturing towards a particular box filled with a handful of preserved plants. He went to reach for a particularly vibrant violet one. “I think this one’s Wolfsbane!”  
  
“Don’t touch anything!” a different voice spoke out, the smooth baritone deadly-sounding with anger.  
  
Draco froze, centimeters away from the plant. Harry dropped the book he was holding in surprise, flinching when it hit the table with a resonating thud.  
  
“Professor Snape!” Harry exclaimed, flustered.  “We, uh, we got lost, and then the staircase disappeared!”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.”  
  
“We were hoping it would come back, and when it didn’t, we decided to just, well, look for a different way out.”  
  
“Would I be correct in assuming you took the staircase to the left of the Defense classroom?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Snape rubbed at his forehead. “That staircase leads down here on Thursdays, I’m afraid. It would serve you better to take the one to the right.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Snape stepped into the storeroom and whisked the box out of Draco’s grasp. He placed it back on the shelf.  
  
“You are correct, Mr. Malfoy, in it being Wolfsbane.” Snape commented, almost proudly. Then his eyes darkened. “In which case, you should also be aware of how deadly the plant can be.”  
  
Draco paled. “I thought that was only if you swallowed it, sir?”  
  
“Particularly potent strains of Wolfsbane can kill through asphyxiation.” Snape told them, ushering them out of the storeroom. He cast a locking spell on the door and led them back to Blaise, who was meekly standing against the wall.  
  
“Then why do you have it, sir?” Harry asked, confused.  
  
“No one is allowed in this storeroom.” Snape informed them, still seething. “Not even my seventh year students.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Uh, sir.” Draco spoke up. “How did you know we were here? How did you even get here, without the staircase?"  
  
“I have my ways, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
Harry’s eyed widened as he remembered the tingle of magic. He still wasn’t sure how magic worked, but if staircases could disappear and broomsticks could fly, then there had to be magical alarms, right? Even muggles had them, for intruders.  
  
Professor Snape tapped the wall with his wand and the stone parted like a thick curtain. He guided them up the stairs and back inside the common room. Before leaving, he fixed them with a reproving look that made a rock form in the pit of Harry’s stomach. “You have forty-five minutes until your first flying lesson – don’t be late.”  
  
When he left, Draco burst out laughing. “That was something.”  
  
“He didn’t even take points away.” Blaise noticed, thoughtfully as they made their way to their dorm room. “I wonder what would happen if he found Gryffindors in there.”  
  
"He'd probably maim them."  
  
Not feeling like contributing to the conversation anymore, Harry put his bag on the bed and slipped out of his cloak. He sat on the floor, drawing his knees to his chest. It had been exciting to see all the Potion materials, but now the excitement had passed and Harry found himself full of worry.  
  
Professor Snape had done nothing to showcase his anger and disappointment aside from glaring coldly, but Harry knew when someone was upset with him. It was true that the professor had only yelled when Draco had almost touched a poisonous plant, but Harry was still troubled.  
  
Harry had never had a reason to trust an adult, and while Professor Snape still made him uneasy, he hadn’t given a reason to _not_ trust him. Even when he found them in his private stores and had reason to punish them, he didn’t yell at them. He didn’t hurt them.  
  
Harry frowned. It was the first time he had been faced with such a situation, but the answer was obvious. Professor Snape _was_ safe. He could be trusted, even if he scared everyone else.   
  
Deciding he wanted to give his Head of House a reason to be proud of him, Harry pulled out his Potions textbook and searched for the section on Wolfsbane. As he skimmed over the very limited text, the anxiety continued to gnaw at his insides.  
  
“Harry?” Blaise interrupted, crouching down in front of him. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be ill.”  
  
Draco abruptly scrambled off the floor, where he had been writing a letter to his mother, letting her know about his first week. “Are you?”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
Draco relaxed, sitting back on the floor. “What’s wrong then? You do look positively green. You’re not upset about Snape finding us in his storeroom, are you? We didn’t even get in trouble for it."  
  
“You could have died.” Harry whispered.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Blaise asked, glancing over Harry’s shoulder to see what he was reading.  
  
“In the storeroom.” Harry clarified. “Draco was about to pick up a bouquet of Wolfsbane. It’s a really poisonous flower that can kill you by just touching it! If Professor Snape hadn’t stepped in at just the right time…”  
  
“Shouldn’t you know by now not to touch things?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow, but he sounded amused.   
  
“Sorry, Father.” Draco muttered indignantly, rolling his eyes.   
  
Harry was missing something, but chose not to comment, instead continuing to list out his worry. “What if Professor Snape had come in too late? What if he hadn’t come at all? What if Draco died because he was stupid enough to pick up a flower in a storeroom full of Doxy poison and snake venom!”  
  
Hey!” Draco exclaimed. “You were going through the books!”  
  
“Not once in all my years of living on this planet, has opening a book been a dangerous activity.” Harry retorted.  
  
“Welcome to the Wizarding World, where cursed books are a thing.” Draco muttered. Blaise was watching both of them in amusement.  
  
“They are?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
Blaise shook his head, and cast a _Tempus_ charm. It took him three tries before it appeared long enough to read. “We should leave for class soon.”  
  
Harry gulped, the faint color on his cheeks disappearing once more. He forced a smile. “Right, class.”  
  
“I’m bringing my scarf.” Draco decided, pulling an emerald and gray scarf out of his trunk. “I’d rather have to set it aside than be cold.”  
  
“Right.” Harry laughed nervously, his breathing hitching. “You don’t want to be cold when we go and fall to our respective deaths. That would be awful.”  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Draco sighed, sitting in front of Harry. “Everything is going to be fine! We’re not allowed more than fifteen feet off the ground.”  
  
“Oh, what fun!”  
  
“Harry!” Draco groaned, giving the laughing boy a slight shake. “I swear, I think he’s going mental.” he commented to Blaise.  
  
“Harry,” Blaise attempted. “You’re not going to fall to your death or crack your head open. If you fall, you’re not going to hurt yourself more than a good bruise.”  
  
Harry nodded, getting up and slipped back into his cloak. He was fumbling with the clasp, still feeling apprehensive.  
  
“Better?"  
  
“Nope.” Harry sighed, putting his Potions book back in his book bag. The printed photo of Wolfsbane refreshed his worries. “I need to talk to Professor Snape.”  
  
“Oh, ask him if he’ll come down to the Quidditch pitch.” Draco suggested brightly as they left the common room. “You might feel better if he’s there.”  
  
Harry nodded thoughtfully.  
  
They left Harry outside of the professor’s classroom, where he was teaching a class of third year students. He peeked through, hoping to catch Snape’s attention without having to make noise.  
  
It was a solid minute before he was noticed.  
  
“What is it, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked, glancing around the class. His third year students were packing up their belongings, as the lesson was over.  
  
“Could I talk to you?” Harry asked meekly.  
  
Snape nodded, ushering him to a doorway across the hallway once the classroom was emptied. It ended up being a spacious office, filled with towering bookcases, a collection of unlabeled jars, and interesting-looking plants. Some he recognized from the greenhouses.  
  
“Peppermint?” Harry asked, catching the wintery scent from a small pot sitting on the teachers desk.   
  
“Fresh mint is usually needed in healing potions.” Snape sat down on the edge of his desk. He turned a stack of ungraded quizzes upside down. “What did you want?”  
  
“It’s about the Wolfsbane.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“I wanted to do some reading about it, but there wasn’t much in the textbook.”  
  
Snape nodded thoughtfully. “It’s used in a highly advanced potion that isn’t necessarily taught in the curriculum, as the ingredients are very expensive and it’s easy to make a mistake.”  
  
“It was only mentioned in the introductory paragraph.” Harry shrugged. “It said that it’s also known as monkshood and aconite – and that touching it is highly dangerous. It can kill you really easily.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“So, why did you have it just laying around?” Harry asked. “What if you came in too late and Draco touched it? What if it actually killed him?”  
  
“Mr. Malfoy wouldn’t have died.” Severus sighed, running fingers through his hair. “Not to mention neither of you should have been going through things that were none of your business.”  
  
“We’re sorry about that.” Harry mumbled. “It was just really interesting, you know? All those strange ingredients and old books. I just wanted to know everything I could.”  
  
A small smile tugged at the edge of Severus’ lips. He always enjoyed when a student showed interest in his subject. Perhaps he’d try to make tomorrow’s class more interesting for his first year Slytherins.  
  
“What if he had touched it though?” Harry was asking, still worried about what could have been the fate of his friend.  
  
“Wolfsbane is only useful when it’s still alive.” Snape decided to tell the truth. “The Wolfsbane you came across is preserved in glycerin, and is used to show my advanced students the properties of the plant.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us?"  
  
Professor Snape narrowed his eyes. "What, and risk having you come across the plant again? I've been teaching long enough to know how thick-headed children can be, Mr. Potter. Just because a plant is cut, doesn't mean it's dead. In fact, it takes weeks for the poison in Wolfsbane to fully die out."  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be heading to your next class?” Severus asked. “It’s getting late.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You don’t seem excited."  
  
“Well, there isn’t anything particularly exciting about rushing into your own death, is there?” Harry laughed sarcastically. “I don’t understand how anyone would want to risk their lives on a _broom_.”  
  
“You’d be surprised.” Professor Snape snorted.  
  
“I was wondering, do you think you’d be willing to come down to the pitch? I’d feel safer knowing you’re there.”  
  
“Madame Hooch is quite competent when it comes to keeping children from falling to their deaths.” Severus pointed out dryly.  
  
“I don’t doubt that, but I’d still feel better.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
After he ushered Harry out of his office and towards class, Severus walked down a staircase and towards his personal chambers. He surpassed the wards and entered the surprisingly warm living room. There was a soft blanket strewn across the couch, where he had fallen asleep while reading a particularly good book last night. He picked up his own green and silver scarf and wrapped it around his neck as he tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.  
  
“Minerva McGonagall, personal chambers.” he articulated, knowing she had most of Thursday free of classes. Personally, he preferred his quiet Mondays. As the flames turned a brilliant green, he reached for his outer robe.  
  
“Severus?”  
  
“Might I come through?” he asked, already stepping through the warm flames. He gave the Head of Gryffindor a competitive smirk. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose and a thick manuscript in front of her.  
  
“What’s that?” he asked, trying to decipher the curling script. He easily recognized the fluid handwriting. “You’re writing a book?”  
  
“I was trying.” she retorted haughtily, but with warmth in her eyes. “until you came in and interrupted.”  
  
“My apologies.” Snape laughed. “I was wondering, if you’d be willing to check out next year’s recruits with me?”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“Slytherin and Gryffindor have their first flying lesson in a few minutes.” Snape sneered playfully. “Perhaps you’d like to see how much talent I’ve acquired this year.”  
  
Minerva laughed, reaching into her closet for her scarf, a bright knit of gold and scarlet. “I think you mean how much talent _I’ve_ acquired.”  
  
They bickered the rest of the way down from Gryffindor tower, comparing last year’s teams as they headed across the grounds.  
  
“It’s a shame Lucian graduated last year.” Minerva was saying, as they found a spot in the stands.  
  
“Mr. Bole?” Severus asked, recalling the Slytherin seeker.  
  
“Not for us, of course.” Minerva smirked. “But it is a shame that you’ve all lost your only competent player.”  
  
Snape looked affronted. “Pardon, but you seem to have forgotten who won the Cup last year. I’m fairly positive it’s currently in _my_ office.”  
  
“Not for long, it won’t be.”  
  
“We’ll just see about that.” Severus sniffed. “Mr. Flint is a strategist – he plays to win, and makes sure everyone else does too.”  
  
“Mr.’s Weasley and Weasley are relentless.”  
  
“Oliver Wood is an obsessive fool.”  
  
Minerva broke into a laugh. “He only cares about Quidditch, that one.” she allowed. “I’ve heard talk that he’s driving Percy Weasley crazy.  
  
“He drives me crazy.”  
  
Down in the field, Madame Hooch was blowing her whistle and commanding that each student stand beside a broom. As she instructed their first move, Draco Malfoy patted his pockets in alarm. He slipped off his scarf and set it down off to the side, placing whatever had been in his pocket on top of it.  
  
There was a faint chorus of “Up!” being shouted, and the two Heads of Houses looked on expectantly.  
  
“It appears Mr. Malfoy got his up first.” Snape pointed out smugly.  
  
“As did Mr. Weasley.” Minerva mentioned. “Perhaps he’ll share the same talent as his older brothers. Charlie Weasley was quite the seeker, you know.”  
  
“I remember.” Snape grimaced. His Slytherins had never won a game when the eldest Weasley had been on the opposing team.  
  
“We are in need of a seeker.”  
  
“As are we.”  
  
“It appears Harry Potter has his broom up too.”  
  
They watched as the students mounted their brooms and kicked off. There was a scream as Neville Longbottom was thrust into the air, a good twenty feet above everyone else.  
  
“Mr. Longbottom!” Madame Hooch was yelling. “Get down here!”  
  
“I’m trying!” came the frightened response, as the boy began to careen towards the grass.  
  
Both Minerva and Severus looked away as the boy hit the ground. He gave a cry of pain and sat up, cradling his arm.  
  
“Oh, dear.” Minerva muttered, turning back to watch. “I should go help.”  
  
“Rolanda can handle it.” Snape assured, putting a hand on her shoulder. He was more worried about Harry, at the moment. The boy had been afraid of this very thing happening to him.  
  
He sought him out in the crowd, grimacing at his chalky face.    
  
“I think I need a word with Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I think Mr. Potter’s busy.”  
  
Severus looked back towards the pitch, watching as Madame Hooch disallowed the first years from flying anymore as she led Neville back towards the castle. One of the Gryffindors had picked the curious item off the ground and was taunting Draco with it. Harry stuck an expectant hand out, an annoyed expression on his face.  
  
A different Gryffindor said something he couldn’t hear, and Harry shrunk back. Draco took a protective step in front of Harry and muttered something.  
  
“Should we do something?”  
  
“Not quite yet.” Minerva decided. “There isn’t enough reason to interfere.”  
  
Severus watched as the Gryffindor’s face became red in indignation and promptly shoved Mr. Malfoy into Harry. They both fell, rather gracelessly.  
  
Snape growled.  
  
“That’s reasonable cause.” Minerva allowed, following Severus down the length of the stands towards the steps. “Mr. Finnegan! Mr. Thomas!” she shouted.  
  
Down on the pitch, Ron Weasley had taken Draco’s snake figurine from Seamus and mounted a broom.  
  
“Come and grab it then!” he taunted.  
  
“Give it back you filthy blood traitor!” Draco shouted, reaching for a broom.  
  
Blaise stopped him, whispering in his ear. “Professor Snape is watching, Draco. Don’t do anything stupid.”  
  
Harry, however, hadn’t heard the whisper and mounted his own broom. It was a shaky start as he kicked off, but as he leaned the slightest bit forward to move, he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. The wind was rushing through his hair, and he took an excited gulp of the cold air. He just felt so _alive_ up here.  
  
“Give it back, Weasley!” he shouted, flying towards the red-head.  
  
“Catch it, Potter!”  
  
Harry cringed at Draco’s worried cry as Ron tossed the sphere as far as he could, easily holding onto his broom one-handed.  
  
“Mr. Weasley!” Professor McGonagall was yelling, as she rushed across the grass with Severus. She lowered her voice as she told him, “I may have found a new Chaser for next year’s team.”  
  
They watched as the unidentified item flew a long and graceful arc. It was an impressive throw, Snape had to admit, begrudgingly. “Mr. Potter!” he choked out in alarm, as Harry flew the distance and began to dive as the sphere descended. He leaned forward, one arm reaching out, and grasped the item a few feet above the ground. Harry grinned and raised it triumphantly as he easily cruised back to Draco.  
  
Draco took it gratefully.  
  
Snape turned to Professor McGonagall with an expression that was as equal parts pride and amusement, as it was shock and anger. “I think I’ve found this year’s seeker.” he whispered, somewhat smug.  
  
“What? You can’t -” Minerva started, but Severus had already reached the students and had schooled his expression into a glare. “My office, Mr. Potter. Now.”  
  
As Harry followed Professor Snape back towards the castle, Severus fought to keep the complacent smile off his face. He had never had much interest in playing Quidditch as a boy, but he definitely had interest when it came to his house winning, _especially_ when it was against Minerva’s Gryffindors. Even if he had to stretch the rules a bit.  
  
Harry was still in trouble, alright, but after a quick scolding they were going to seek out Marcus Flint. Perhaps he’d take away points from Gryffindor for what they did, too.  
  
Severus’ smirk broke into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite enjoy Severus/McGonagall friendships, and I hope to see them still bickering in the future.  
> Yes, there was a quote from Cursed Child in there, because Scorpius Malfoy is a precious little bean.
> 
> [Minor editing has been done since chapter's original posting.]


	4. Dumbledore.

“Mr. Malfoy, I want you to go to Professor Snape and tell him why you refused to participate in the remainder of my class.” Madame Hooch was saying, as she wrote out a note.  
  
She used her wand to magically seal it shut before handing it over.  
  
“Yes, ma’am.” Draco nodded, staring at the ground. His hand was wrapped around the snake figurine protectively, as if waiting for someone else to steal it from him. He just wanted to keep it safe. He hadn’t meant to bring it to flying lessons.  
  
“You’re dismissed.”  
  
Draco nodded again, pivoting on his heel and walking over to Blaise, who was waiting for him near the stands. “Let’s go find Harry.” he suggested.  
  
The two boys fell into step as they headed towards the castle.  
  
“What’s that?” Blaise asked, gesturing towards the piece of rolled parchment Draco was clenching in his hand.  
  
“What?” Draco asked, startled out of his thoughts. “Oh, it’s a note for Professor Snape. Something about me not participating?”  
  
“Well, you didn’t.”  
  
“I didn’t want the Weasel trying to take this again.” Draco defended himself, pulling the bauble out of his robe pocket. “Professor Snape was gone, so I probably would have tried to hex him or something.  
  
“You know I’ll always be your second.”  
  
Draco grinned in thanks. “I am not about to let a _Weasley_ , of all people, have the last word with me.”  
  
“I shouldn’t be condoning this.” Blaise grimaced. “But you do have to defend your honor and all that. What did you have in mind?”  
  
“You’ll see.”  
  
Blaise stopped walking, grasping Draco’s shoulder. “We both know you don’t actually have an idea, but when you do get one, please run it by me. I’m not about to be known as the kid who’s friends with a Slytherin turned Gryffindor.”  
  
“I’m more cunning than you think.”  
  
“Sure you are, Malfoy.” Blaise smirked. “Come on, let’s give that to Professor Snape so we can talk to Harry.”  
  
Draco waited for Blaise to open the front door, slipping in before him. The other shook his head in amusement.  
  
“Well, would you look at that,” Blaise's smirk grew, as he caught sight of the ornate hourglasses which kept track of house points. “It seems like someone cost their house a good amount of points.”  
  
Draco looked at them in awe. “He didn’t even take any from Slytherin, did he?”  
  
“Are you surprised?”  
  
“Not really.” Draco shook his head. “How many points do you think Professor Snape took from Gryffindor?”  
  
“Twenty?”  
  
“No, I think it was more.” Draco disagreed. “They had a good amount this morning, remember? There’s barely any left.”  
  
“It was thirty points, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor Snape’s voice drawled out, causing the two to jump. He had this uncanny ability of _just showing up_ , that no one ever heard him approach.  
  
“Oh, hello sir.” Draco turned around, sticking the note into his robe pocket, hoping it hadn’t been seen.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as five rubies trickled into the first hourglass. “That would be Minerva, attempting to undo the damage, no doubt.” he commented, amused.  
  
“Did Harry get in trouble?” Blaise asked, following their Head of House as he headed towards the staircase for the dungeons.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll find Mr. Potter in good spirits.” Professor Snape conveyed vaguely, a tiny smirk perched on his lips.  
  
They had reached the Potions corridor and Professor Snape waved them off before unlocking the door to his office. He had some letters to attend to.  
  
Draco turned to leave, but Blaise elbowed him.  
  
“Right.” he muttered, returning to Professor Snape’s office. He took the note out of his pocket and glanced at Blaise. “Stay right here.”  
  
Blaise nodded.  
  
"Professor Snape?" Draco asked uncertainly, as he stepped into the office. It was colder compared to the hallway, which was saying something.   
  
"How can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
The professor was taking out a thin stack of envelopes from a drawer, putting them down besides some blank parchment and a self-inking quill.  
  
"I, uh, needed to give you this." Draco rushed out, handing over the note. He blushed when he saw how crumpled it was – he had been clutching it too tightly.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow in questioning as he took the note. It quickly changed to disapproval as he read through the short sentences. “Would you care to tell me why you decided not to participate?” he asked, pushing it to the side.  
  
“I didn’t want the Weasel – the Weasley kid – to take this again.” Draco shrugged noncommittedly, pulling the snake out of his robe pocket for what felt like the tenth time that afternoon.  
  
“Could I ask why you had this in class, in the first place?”  
  
“I meant to ask Professor Flitwick if he could cast an Unbreakable Charm on it.” Draco explained, his voice scared and timid. He wasn’t even looking at Snape, but staring at the shadows on the floor.  
  
It didn’t require much to figure out what was wrong.  
  
Severus sighed internally, pushing the note off the desk and into the rubbish bin. “Draco, I’m not going to bother your father over something so trivial, you understand?”  
  
Draco looked up with tangible relief, his gray eyes bright again. "Thank you sir, I mean, it would be best. He doesn't like being bothered about things that don't matter."  
  
Snape studied him carefully. “No, he doesn’t.”  
  
He turned his attention to the trinket in Draco’s hand, appraising it carefully. A smile tugged at his lips as he recognized the figurine – it had been sitting on Lucius’ desk for years now, a gift from his own father.  
  
“That’s quite the gift, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape commented approvingly, reaching for it. He pulled out his wand and cast a spell over it. “That would be the Unbreakable Charm.” he explained, handing it back.   
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Take care of it, Draco.” Snape waved him off, taking out a stick of green wax and a stamp with the Slytherin Coat of Arms. “Go find Mr. Potter now, I’m sure he’s more than ready to share his good news.”  
  
Draco exited the office feeling much lighter. He found Blaise leaning against the wall, casting a blue colored light from his wand tip.   
  
“Wicked.” Draco approved, nodding towards the staircase to the common room. “How’d you get it to change color?”  
  
“Lumos Hyacintho.” Blaise shrugged, turning the light off. “I saw one of the Weasley twins casting it yesterday. It took me a couple tries.”  
  
Draco tried, but only got the usual off-white light.  
  
“Yeah, that happened to me a few times.” Blaise confessed. “It only worked when I accidentally flicked my wand to the right.”   
  
“You’ll have to show me later.”  
  
“Theo can do it too.” Blaise informed him, tapping a brick on the blank wall with his wand. “Aconite.”  
  
“Of course Theo can do it.” Draco mumbled, stepping into the Common Room after Blaise, shooting Theo an amused look. He was currently sitting on the couch behind Pansy and Daphne, reading from his Herbology textbook.  
  
“Hey, Draco! Blaise!” Pansy called out, when she had noticed them. “Do you want to do homework with us? Gemma’s down here until dinner, in case we need help with something.”  
  
“We’ll be down in a bit.” Blaise promised, following Draco towards their dorm room. “After we talk to Harry.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
They entered their dorm room to find Harry sprawled on his bed, reading from a thin book, completely engrossed in the text. He didn’t look up until Draco purposely slammed the door shut.  
  
“Oh, hey guys!” he greeted nonchalantly, masking his fright at the sound by marking his place and shutting the book. There was a golden snitch embossed on the front cover. “How was the rest of class?"  
  
“What’s that?” Draco asked, at the same time Blaise answered with “Pretty boring, once you left.”  
  
Harry sat up, picking up the book. “Oh, it’s just the Quidditch Handbook.”  
  
“Where did you get that from?”  
  
“Professor Snape let me borrow it.” Harry answered nonchalantly.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Harry’s grin widened. “Well, because you’re looking at Slytherin’s newest Seeker!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“What?” Draco bit out, jealousy lacing the word. “What do you mean, Seeker? First years can’t play on the Quidditch teams.”  
  
“I know.” Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Professor Snape said we could probably bend the rules this time around, and Professor Dumbledore was really supportive about it, it was kind of weird. He kept giving me this smile like he knew something.”  
  
“That’s incredible.” Blaise complimented.  
  
“Thanks.” Harry beamed. “Marcus Flint – he’s the team captain – still wants me to try out, rather than take Snape’s word for it, but Professor Snape says I’ll impress him.”  
  
“That’s great.”  
  
“Yeah, great.” Draco echoed unenthusiastically. Blaise shot him a glare when Harry’s attention had returned to the snitch on the cover.  
  
“This book is incredible.” Harry whispered in awe. “It tells you everything you need to know about how to play, and the pictures _move_ , so you can really see what the words are saying.”  
  
Draco decided then that he needed to give Harry some magical books for Christmas. Perhaps some about Quidditch, too.  
  
“Since there are only two more flying lessons left, Professor Snape said that after, he’d take me to the pitch on weekends to practice flying and catching the snitch before the team practices in November.” Harry continued. “He also said it’s easier with someone else, so you guys are free to come and help.”  
  
“Wicked.” Draco smiled genuinely at that. “While the fate of Slytherin’s Quidditch Team is a heavy weight to rest on my hands, I would love to help you not be completely daft.”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“While I’m not really into playing Quidditch, I’ll definitely come ‘round and watch you guys.” Blaise offered. “Perhaps I’ll do some homework out there – it would be nice doing it outside.”  
  
“How were you not sorted into Ravenclaw?” Draco complained playfully. “We just got permission from our Head of House to play _Quidditch_ on the weekends, and you’re excited about doing homework outside?”  
  
“Hey, if Theodore Nott was sorted into Slytherin, then I’m definitely not a Ravenclaw!” Blaise retorted, throwing a pillow at Draco.  
  
\--  
  
“ _I’m_ definitely not a Ravenclaw.” Harry whispered, staring down at his ink-stained fingers. They matched the smudges on the parchment in front of him. “I think my brain is dead.”  
  
Draco laughed. “Think about it this way: now we only have to worry about tomorrow’s Potions homework, and we’ve got the entire weekend free!”  
  
“I guess, but is it really worth it?” Harry asked, picking up the two pieces of homework he had completed before dinner. He handed them over to Gemma with a pleading smile who vanished all the ink stains away. “Thank you.”  
  
He picked up his textbooks and followed Draco back to their room. The other had been done with his schoolwork for nearly ten minutes and had been practicing a strange variation of the _Lumos_ spell. In their dorm room, Harry sorted through his textbooks and picked up the one for Potions.  
  
“I really can’t wait for this class.” Harry commented, opening to the first page and reading the introductory paragraph again. “It’s been a long week.”  
  
“You’ll love it.” Draco promised. “Professor Snape is one of the most renowned Potioneers in the country, you know.”  
  
“You called him Severus once, on the train.” Harry recalled. “I’ve been wondering about that.”  
  
“Oh, he was friends with my father when they were students at Hogwarts.” Draco said, importantly. “He’s usually busy during the school year, but he always comes to the Manor during holidays and such.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“He was the Best Man at my parent’s wedding too.”  
  
“Really?” Harry smiled softly, as he pictured their Head of House trading his billowing black robes for a muggle suit.  
  
“Yeah.” Draco pulled out his half-finished letter from the bedside drawer. “I’ll ask Mother to send me some photos – everyone was wearing the finest dress robes. There was a giant cake too; it was covered in buttercream roses and sugared lace.”  
  
“I wonder what my parent’s wedding looked like.” Harry wondered wistfully, as he tried to think of what they might have looked like. He didn't even know what their faces looked like.  
  
Draco frowned. “The Potters _were_ a pureblood family. There’s bound to be photos of their wedding somewhere – The Daily Prophet perhaps? My parents had a wedding announcement in it…I’ll ask Mother.”  
  
Harry didn’t respond, just continued to stare at his hands with a sad smile, his throat hurting and tight.  
  
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Draco asked, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed. He tried to make his voice gentle and comforting.  
  
“It’s dumb.”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“I just, I miss my parents.” Harry sighed. “I know I was just a baby, and I didn’t really get to know them – I don’t even remember them, actually. I just miss them.”  
  
“Well, that makes sense.” Draco nodded. “Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to miss them. Even if you don’t remember very much about them, or nothing at all.”  
  
Draco grimaced at his bluntness, but Harry smiled gratefully.  
  
“I’ve never talked about them.” he admitted.  
  
“Really?” Draco asked, surprised. He realized he always talked about his parents – but never gave Harry the chance to talk about his. “What do you know?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Aunt Petunia – my mom’s sister – says they died in a car accident, but Hagrid said that’s wrong. He said they died heroes, protecting me and the rest of the Wizarding World.”  
  
“They did.”  
  
“I think it’s stupid.” Harry sighed, clenching his fists. “If they hadn’t tried to save the world – to act like, like bloody _Gryffindors_ – perhaps they’d still be alive. I’d have parents who would send me stuff, parents I could write letters too, parents who would love me, parents who wouldn’t let me feel so alone.”  
  
Draco shuffled awkwardly.  
  
“Sorry.” Harry muttered, looking up. There were tear tracks running down his face. “I never get to talk about them.”  
  
“It’s a-alright.” Draco stammered. He was always taught to shut out emotion – that it wasn’t becoming of a Malfoy. Of all times for Blaise to not be here. “Come on, let’s wash up for dinner.”  
  
He led them to the bathroom, where they washed their hands. While Harry scrubbed at the stubborn ink stains, Draco combed his hair again.  
  
As they walked across the common room, Draco caught Blaise’s attention. “We’re going to the Great Hall for dinner.”  
  
“Already?”  
  
“I think we could use the quiet.” Draco shrugged, glancing at Harry.  
  
Blaise looked over at Harry, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Is he doing alright?” he whispered to Draco.  
  
Draco shrugged again.  
  
“Here, let me just put these away.” Blaise decided, hurrying upstairs.  
  
They found the Great Hall mostly empty, with only a few students milling about. The Slytherin table was only inhabited by a pair of sixth years. There wasn’t any food yet, but the tables were set and there were pitchers of drink.  
  
When they sat down, Draco poured glasses of pumpkin juice for everyone. He felt frantic and useless; he just wanted the sadness to leave Harry’s face, but he didn’t know how to help.  
  
“I’m not really hungry.” Harry mumbled, staring at his lap.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Blaise asked, taking a long sip of his pumpkin juice. “Did Draco say something stupid again?"  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Harry smiled faintly. “No, not this time.”  
  
“Hey!” Draco repeated, miffed.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it then?” Blaise asked softly.  
  
“He misses his parents.” Draco informed him, getting tired of the careful treading. It was more effective to be blunt.  
  
“I don’t even remember them.” Harry sighed. “They’re written about in books for the Wizarding World to know, and I don’t even remember them.”          
  
“That’s alright.” Blaise promised, leaning across the table a little. “You were just a kid – a baby. You’re not going to remember much, and maybe it’s better you don’t. Learn about them from someone who loved them, from someone who knew them. Get to know them through photos and memories, not newspaper articles and history books.”  
  
Harry nodded. “I don’t know anyone.”  
  
Draco sat back, and stared up at the staff table. Professor Snape was sitting beside Professor Quirrell again, looking absolutely irritated. He went to school with Harry's parents, Draco recalled. Not to mention the Malfoy’s had some impressive connections – someone had to own a photograph or two of the Potters.  
  
Harry followed Draco’s stare and found himself clutching at his scar when that sharp pain returned.  
  
“Harry?” Blaise asked.  
  
“It’s nothing.” Harry shrugged it off, but he was beginning to wonder if Professor Snape was making his scar hurt, and if that was a sign. He wasn’t stupid; he knew his scar was a curse wound. “Just a headache.”  
  
“Again?”  
  
“Perhaps you should see Madame Pomfrey."  
  
“No, it’s fine.” Harry insisted, taking a drink of his juice.  
  
He was quiet for a moment as he processed everything that had been happening the past week.  
  
“Are you sure Professor Snape is okay?” Harry asked suddenly, doubting all his past conceptions of the Potions Master and rubbing at his scar.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Is Professor Snape safe?”  
  
“Harry, what is this all about?” Draco asked, looking up at the staff table. He made eye contact with his Head of House and shot him a concerned look, almost asking for help.  
  
“I think Professor Snape is making my scar hurt.”  
  
“Wait, your scar?” Draco’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that supposed to be a curse mark? Shouldn’t we be telling someone? I could write to my Father –”  
  
“Calm down, Draco.” Blaise interrupted. “Harry, no offense, but are you sure they’re not just normal headaches?"  
  
“I’m positive.”  
  
“Alright, let’s just say your scar _is_ hurting.” Blaise continued. “How do you know it’s actually Professor Snape? You’ve been alone with him; did it hurt then?”  
  
“No.” Harry frowned thoughtfully. “It’s only when he’s sitting up at the staff table. We make eye contact, or almost eye contact, and it hurts. It’s real okay, I can feel it.”  
  
“I believe you.” Draco said firmly, thinking everything over. “Okay, could it be someone else? Who else is always at the staff table when it happens?”  
  
“Professor McGonagall has been there before.”  
  
“Well, she’s not up there now.” Draco pointed out. “What about Flitwick?”  
  
“I didn’t even look at him.” Harry frowned. “Professor Quirrell is always sitting next to Snape, though, but…"  
  
“Yeah, Professor Quirrell can’t get through a sentence without stuttering four separate times.” Draco groaned. “I don’t really think it could be him, but we should keep an eye on him instead – Flitwick too, probably.”  
  
“What about Professor Snape?”  
  
“Professor Snape isn’t bad.” Draco insisted firmly, anger lacing his tone. “We have Potions tomorrow – if your scar hurts, then we’ll keep an eye on him.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“He’s my godfather, you know.” Draco added tersely. “I trust him.”  
  
Harry nodded, the emptiness from earlier returning. “Do you think I have a godfather?” he asked quietly, looking at Draco from under his fringe.  
  
Draco swallowed quickly, looking away. He recalled a certain cousin on his Mother’s side. He also recalled him being responsible for Harry’s parents’ deaths.  
  
“I don’t know.” he lied.  
  
\--  
  
Up at the staff table, Severus was half-heartedly engaged in a conversation with Professor McGonagall and Quirrell.  
  
Another year meant another Defense teacher, and once again, it meant another disappointment. When he had first heard of Quirinus’ travels and expeditions, Snape had found himself excited at the prospect of intelligent conversations pertaining the Dark Arts.  
  
Instead, he had found himself sitting beside a garlic-reeking half-wit, who couldn’t go more than four words without stuttering. It was insulting, for Dumbledore to choose this dunderhead over himself.  
  
He sighed, draining the last of his coffee. He gave his wand a wave and the coffee pot floated forward and poured a new cup. Two seats down, Dumbledore gave him a soft chuckle.  
  
Severus almost hadn’t noticed that Quirrell had finally stopped talking and almost – almost – gave a sigh of relief. Looking up, he noticed that the Defense teacher’s attention had been caught elsewhere.  
  
He followed the direction and found the gaze fixed on Harry Potter.  
  
Harry was staring back and winced, clutching at his forehead. Severus’ eyebrows furrowed in concern as he turned back towards Quirrell, but he had already gotten up, and was making his way through a side door the staff used to avoid walking through the Great Hall.  
  
Severus shook his head and continued to sip his coffee.  
  
“What was that about?” Minerva asked him, keeping her voice down. She was swirling the contents of a delicately painted teacup. Snape was willing to bet a lot that there was more than just tea in there.  
  
The first week of term was always stressful.  
  
“I don’t know.” he muttered, frustrated. “There’s something up with Quirrell, and quite frankly, I don’t trust him.”  
  
“That makes two of us.” she added, taking a sip of her tea. Severus caught the fragrant scent of whiskey and withheld a smirk. Instead he raised an eyebrow questioningly.  
  
“Have your Slytherins not complained yet?” she asked offhandedly. “The man is apparently incapable of teaching a coherent class.”  
  
“I can imagine.”  
  
He had indeed received a handful of complaints, most specifically from his older students who had both enjoyed last year’s Professor Thunforde, and thought their Head of House had been cheated, once again, out of his desired position.  
  
“Severus, my boy.” Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts. “I was hoping I could meet with you before class?”  
  
“As you wish, sir.” Snape put down his napkin and stood up. He followed the Headmaster out the side door, ignoring Minerva’s look of concern. He didn’t say anything until they were both inside the Headmaster’s office.  
  
“What is this about?” he asked, checking the time. There were fifteen minutes until breakfast was over and he needed to double-check his lesson plan before the first years arrived.  
  
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you,” the headmaster explained, sitting at his desk. He offered a bowl of lemon drops, but Severus shook his head. “Very well, then. Tell me, how is Harry faring in Slytherin?”  
  
“He’s flourishing.”  
  
There was bite in his answer, but Snape wasn’t fond of unjustified attacks on his house, and this felt like an attack.  
  
“Settle down, Severus.” Dumbledore laughed, popping a bright yellow candy in his mouth. He sucked at it thoughtfully. “None of the other students are giving him any problems?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded, staring curiously. “You never told me, what happened with our young Mr. Potter during Monday’s breakfast?”  
  
“You never asked, and quite frankly, that isn’t any of your business.” Snape retorted, crossing his arms and glaring.  
  
“Oh, Severus.” the headmaster chuckled again. “There’s no need to be so protective – I was merely curious."  
  
“He had a panic attack."  
  
“Really?”  
  
“I’m a bit concerned about how those muggles were treating the boy, Albus.” Severus confided. He really shouldn’t have been so hopeful.  
  
Dumbledore waved him off. “There’s nothing to worry about there, my boy. Everything is perfectly fine with the Dursley's.”  
  
“You’ve been checking up on him?”  
  
“Why, of course!”  
  
Severus nodded, seeing right through the lie. He had become experienced at picking up the subtle signs, and he had never been wrong before.  
  
“You’ve grown fond of him?” Dumbledore asked.  
  
“Honestly, I haven’t decided yet.” Severus admitted, somewhat tersely. “I haven’t spoken to him more than a handful of times.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded, thoughtfully. “I would prefer you keep it that way.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“There are things at stake that you don’t understand yet, my boy.” Dumbledore explained sadly. “It would be…for the best, if you kept your relationship with Mr. Potter distant.”  
  
“I have his class next period, Headmaster.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded. “It would be best, if you could publicly distance yourself. He should have been sorted into Gryffindor, quite honestly, but I’ll work with that I’m given.”  
  
Severus stared silently.  
  
“He’s one of my Slytherins.”  
  
“It’s difficult, I understand, but there are certain measures that need to be taken, Severus.”  
  
“I cannot abandon him.”  
  
“Minerva would be more than happy to take your place."  
  
“No.”  
  
There was tension forming in the room, and Dumbledore decided it was time to change tactics. He often underestimated how protective Severus could get when it came to his charges.  
  
“He looks an awful lot like James, doesn’t he?” he commented offhandedly, aligning the trinkets on his desk.  
  
“He has his mother’s eyes.” Snape answered stiffly, keeping his face expressionless, but his eyes darkened just the slightest bit.  
  
“I do wonder,” Dumbledore pondered, a laugh ghosting his tone. “Which parent Harry will be most like. Will he have Lily’s talent in Potions and Charms? The adventurous and daring spirit of James Potter?”  
  
“If I cannot go forth and teach my class, I suppose we will never find out if he inherited Lily’s intelligence.”  
  
“Now, Severus.” the Headmaster admonished with a laugh. “James was quite the prodigy at Transfiguration, you know? Not to mention the things that boy could do on a broom.”  
  
“It seems young Mr. Potter shares that certain trait with his father.” Snape shrugged, wondering if that was the only reason the Headmaster had allowed the rules to be bent for a first year – so he could connect more to his dead father.  
  
“Oh, yes, yes! I am certain he’s going to make the Slytherin Quidditch Team as proud as James did the Gryffindor one.”  
  
Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. James was one of his least favorite subjects, and it was fairly obvious to see what the Headmaster was doing. He was attempting to instill the similarities between father and son, trying to create a rift between Head of House and student.  
  
It didn’t matter to Severus, whether the boy was regarded as James’ or Lily’s, or even Voldemort’s himself. The boy was a snake, and as his Head of House, Snape had made a promise to watch over them and protect them.  
  
“Headmaster.” he intoned, dryly. This was a pointless conversation and he actually had a class starting. “If I may be so forward?”  
  
“Yes, my boy?”  
  
“If the Dark Lord is truly going to rise again, you are wanting me to spy again, aren’t you? It’s an imperative part of your grand plan, and it would be ruined if I had a publicly friendly relationship with Harry Potter. The Dark Lord would never believe that I still sided with him, and I could be killed in an instant.”  
  
“Well, I – "  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “I understand more than anyone just how important it is to keep up appearances and secret alliances a secret.”  
  
“I trust that you do.”  
  
“However, the boy needs help and I cannot, in good conscience, leave him to suffer alone. You abandoned him at Privet Drive, and he needs – ”  
  
“As much as it pained me to do so, it was necessary.” Dumbledore interrupted, his tone growing frustrated and cross. “The blood wards –"  
  
“Would keep him safe.” Snape finished, mildly irritated. He didn’t bother commenting that the Headmaster had just been caught in his earlier lie. “That was then, and this coming summer will be a discussion for later. I am speaking of the situation that is right now. The boy needs help, and as my charge, I intend to help him. Regardless of whether he is the son of James Potter. I made a promise to Lily, a promise to protect him – even if he had been sorted into bloody Gryffindor.”  
  
“Severus.”  
  
“Perhaps, if he had been a Gryffindor I could have kept watch from afar.” Snape raised his hand up, stopping the Headmaster from continuing. “However, the situation has changed. I made a promise when I took this job – to keep vigil over my snakes. That will include Harry Potter.”  
  
“I know.” Dumbledore said, with a slight smile.  
  
“I can keep from showing favoritism – Merlin knows I prefer to keep such things private. He shall be another student in my class, and I will be careful of what I say to him in front of the other Slytherins. Though they are still my snakes, some of their parents were supporters.”  
  
“That would be agreeable.” Dumbledore smiled, the twinkle back in his eye. “I forget how much you care for your students.”  
  
Snape nodded, standing up.  
  
“Not a day has come where I regret making you Head of House.” Dumbledore grinned, waving him off. “Now go and teach your class!”  
  
Severus shook off the compliment and made the long trek towards the dungeons. He could have asked to use the Headmaster’s floo, but he needed the time to think.  
  
He had always known the Dark Lord couldn’t have been truly gone – there was never a body to be recovered. He didn’t even know how proof of Voldemort’s death had been established. He felt the ghost of a prickle on his left arm, a constant reminder of the stupid decisions he had made as an impressionable young wizard – but as time-turners could only go back an hour at a time, there was no use in dwelling on the past.  
  
He had made his choice back then, and he had made a different choice later. He just had to live with the consequences of both.  
  
Still, he could hope – hope that the Dark Lord was well and truly gone. But you know what they said about hope.  
  
When Snape reached the Potions classroom, he found that everyone had already chosen a seat and were waiting in whispered anticipation.  
  
He entered the room, robes billowing. When he reached the front, he summoned a sheet of paper from his desk and began taking roll, not even hesitating at Harry’s name – he was just another student, after all.  
  
It was only the first week of term, and already Snape was wishing it was over. Perhaps once he had been passionate to teach, but after years of watching ignorant students destroy what he loved, well, the passion begins to fade.  
  
Sometimes though, there was a student who made him realize he enjoyed teaching, and as he caught Harry’s eye, he realized Harry could be that student.  
  
All he had to do was try.  
  
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began, speaking in barely more than a whisper, but the students caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.”  
  
He walked the length of the classroom, his voice steady and captivating. “I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even how to stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”  
  
Harry gave Draco an excited look as he wrote down the shortened version of Professor Snape’s speech. It was nowhere near as poetic, unfortunately.  
  
“Of course, that can’t happen if you don’t pay attention.” Professor Snape continued, moving to stand in front of Harry.  
  
Harry looked up when he noticed the shadow standing before him, nervously setting down his quill.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” Snape greeted, his tone unfriendly as Dumbledore’s words continued to ring in his head. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”  
  
Harry blanked.  
  
Snape raised a disapproving eyebrow, and everyone in the classroom could feel the tension forming in the room. Near the front, Hermione Granger raised her hand frantically.  
  
“Oh, um,” Harry stalled, risking a glance at Draco. “I don’t know, sir.”  
  
Snape’s lips curled into a grimace. “Tut, it appears fame clearly isn’t everything.”  
  
Harry’s face dropped and he looked down, staring at the desk. Even with reading the chapter again last night, being called to answer in front of the class always made him nervous, always made him forget. He just wanted to show Professor Snape he cared about the class.  
  
He shrunk into himself.  
  
At the front of the class, Snape’s sneer faltered. He needed to distance himself from the savior of The Wizarding World if he wanted Voldemort to believe him loyal – if he truly could return, that is – but he also couldn’t keep doing this. His Slytherins were staring at him strangely, and it was absolutely justified. He never picked on a snake like this, and it made him feel uneasy. Hadn’t he given them all a speech on how they were family? How they had to stick up for each other?  
  
“Let’s try this again.” he spoke gently, settling on an easier question. “Where, Mr. Potter, could I find a bezoar?”  
  
Harry looked up with an apprehensive smile. “In the stomach of a goat, sir.” he answered rather timidly.  
  
To Hell with Dumbledore, quite honestly. He wasn’t going to be the one to dictate how his snakes were treated – not when the old man didn’t even care about them.  
  
“Correct.” Severus nodded, turning his attention to the snickering Gryffindor on the other side of the classroom. “Mr. Weasley, tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and Wolfsbane?”  
  
The red-head straightened up, his face coloring. He turned towards his seatmate, who only shrugged in return. “I don’t know, uh, sir.” Ron stammered out.  
  
“Pity.”  
  
“It’s a pity you didn’t ask Hermione.” Ron retorted, catching sight of her persistent hand waving at the front of the classroom.  
  
Snape glanced up at her.  
  
“There isn’t a difference, sir!” Hermione blurted out, trying to remain expressionless as Snape glared at her.  
  
“Ten points from Gryffindor.” he told Ron, returning to the front of the classroom. He fixed his gaze on Hermione. “Five points for speaking out of turn.”  
  
“Sorry.” she squeaked out.  
  
Professor Snape turned his attention to the classroom. “The plant also goes by the name aconite – it’s a particularly poisonous plant used in a highly complex potion. For the record, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful, it is known as the Draught of Living Death.”  
  
He appraised the room. “Well? Why aren’t you all writing this down?”  
  
As the first year students hurried to write down their notes, Severus pointed his wand at the board and watched as a recipe wrote itself out.  
  
“I’m going to explain the properties of all these ingredients.” he gestured towards the list. “I’m going to demonstrate some of the most basic skills you’re going to need in Potions, and then you’re going to going to brew a simple Boil Cure."


	5. Potions Class.

“I daresay, Potter.” Draco smirked, as he splashed a bit of milk into his morning tea, admiring the beige swirls as they settled. “Perhaps you’d consider leaving some syrup for the rest of us.”  
  
“Sorry.” Harry blushed, putting the sticky decanter back in the center of the table. He used a spoon to fold the gold into his porridge. “I just like it really sweet.”  
  
“I can tell.” Draco shook his head, helping himself to some strawberries and toast with marmalade. “It’s astonishing.”  
  
Harry grinned, his mouth full of sweet and milky oatmeal. It was a food Aunt Petunia would serve on school mornings when Harry had been too young to make breakfast; in fact, it had been the first thing he’d learned to make. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to indulge in the sugar and cinnamon Dudley would add.  
  
“The muggle-born, I swear.” Draco muttered underneath his breath to Blaise, who was pouring a decent dollop of golden syrup atop his porridge. “It’s as if they were raised without manners.”  
  
Blaise chuckled.  
  
“Harry, you shouldn’t – oh, look!” Draco stopped midsentence, as he caught sight of a few owls flying through the open windows. “The mail is here.”  
  
The others looked up as a few owls flew to their section of the Slytherin table. Two dropped letters in front of Pansy and Vincent, and a third dropped a rolled up newspaper in front of Blaise.  
  
“Hedwig!” Harry exclaimed, as the snowy white landed in front of him. She had a note tied to her leg and nipped amicably until Harry fed her a piece of sausage. With a hoot, she flew off, leaving the note behind.  
  
“It’s from Hagrid!” he informed his friends, reading the messy scrawl. There were ink splatters on the page and with that, he could sympathize. “Oh, what’s that?” he asked, distracted, as a new owl appeared and left a box in front of Draco.  
  
“It’s from Mother.” Draco grinned, petting the tawny owl. It dipped its beak into Draco’s water glass before flying away. The blond grimaced and pushed the cup away from him.  
  
It was a heavy box, wrapped in brown paper and twine. There was a note attached, rich ink on thick cardstock. “Dragon,” he read aloud, blushing a little at his mother’s endearing nickname. “I know I’ve only just written, and haven’t even given you proper time to respond, but the house elves have started the fall harvest and I simply couldn’t let you go without these. Wishing you well, your Mother.”    
  
He picked at the paper carefully, and his smile grew as he saw the red and green contents of the box. “Apples!”  
  
“Apples?” Harry repeated dubiously, leaning over to peer into the box. “Your mother sent you apples?"  
  
“These apples come from the family orchard.” Draco sniffed, reaching for one. “They’re the best apples in the entire wizarding world."  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Harry shook his head and returned to his note. Apples! Of all things to get excited about! He frowned, the sadness from last night returning. It wasn’t like he would ever get anything from his parents. Right now, he would be perfectly content receiving a box of apples too.  
  
“Hagrid’s invited me for tea tomorrow afternoon.” Harry stated, shrugging off the bout of emotions. “It says I’m free to bring friends.”  
  
“Hagrid?” Draco asked, disdainfully. “Isn’t that the giant oaf who took you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies?”  
  
Harry glared at the blond, tucking the note into his robe pocket. “Yes, and he’s really nice and thoughtful. He wants to know how my first week at school went.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“You should be nicer to him, Draco.” Harry chided. “Otherwise, you won’t get to come with us.”  
  
“Us?” Draco asked, glancing at Blaise. The latter was engaged in conversation with Daphne, but he looked up when he felt Draco’s glance.  
  
“I think tea sounds lovely.” he nodded, sending Harry a smile before returning to his previous conversation. “You have to realize though, there’s a significant difference between aconitum and – .”  
  
“Alright, I apologize.” Draco tuned out their conversation, rolling his eyes. _Not a Ravenclaw?_. “He just seems primitive. He didn’t finish school past third year, you know.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter.”   
  
Draco shrugged, biting into his toast. “I suppose not."  
  
“So, you’re coming?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Blaise picked up the newspaper, absentmindedly untying the string that held it together. He was listening intently to Daphne’s argument, as he unfurled the Wizarding newspaper. The colorless photos seemed to come to life as they began to move.  
  
The movement caught Harry’s attention and he glanced at the crowded page. The words seemed to scream out at him, the headlines highlighted in thick font. “Break in at Gringotts.” he read the bold lettering, above a sepia photograph of goblins.  
  
He shivered, remembering their cold glares and frightful faces. It was supposed to be impossible to steal from the highly secure Wizarding bank, and yet someone had accomplished it. With a careful tug, he took the newspaper from underneath Blaise’s arms.  
  
The other didn’t comment.  
  
“Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31, July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.” Harry read aloud softly, as Draco listened. “Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had, in fact, been emptied that same day.”  
  
“Isn’t that lucky.” Draco muttered, sipping his tea. “Emptied that same day.”  
  
“Emptied that same day.” Harry echoed, skimming through the remainder of the text. “It’s kind of funny, because that’s the same day Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley.”  
  
“It was, wasn’t it?”  
  
“We could have been at the bank at the same time that someone was attempting to – wait!” Harry stopped, realization hitting him in the face.  
  
“Don’t tell me you emptied your vault?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve heard the Potter fortune isn’t as vast as the Malfoy one, but you couldn’t possibly empty it with one trip.”  
  
“No, not that.” Harry waved him off, ignoring the low-grade bragging. “Hagrid said he was on important Hogwarts business – said he had to get something for Dumbledore from his vault.”  
  
“What was it?”  
  
“No idea.” Harry frowned, picking up a muffin and tearing it into pieces. “He wouldn’t tell me, he was really secretive about it. There was nothing else in the vault – completely empty – except for this small box.”  
  
“…and you think it’s the same vault?”  
  
“It fits, doesn’t it?” Harry asked, thinking over the timeline. “Hagrid has something really important and really secretive to retrieve for Professor Dumbledore, he empties the vault, and then the bank gets broken into that same day?”  
  
“Much like your headaches, Harry, I think it’s all just a coincidence.” Blaise sighed, finally joining their conversation. He took the newspaper back and read through the article. “It doesn’t mention anything specific, alright? Dozens of people went into the bank that day, and several probably emptied their vault.  
  
“They would have to tell you, right?” Harry asked, pointedly ignoring Blaise’s lack of faith. “If your vault got broken into?”  
  
“They’d have to.”  
  
“Hagrid would know.” Harry decided. “If Dumbledore’s vault had been broken into, he would know. We should ask him.”  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Harry ignored him, looking towards the staff table. Perhaps the Headmaster was seated at the table, reading through the same article. Perhaps his facial expression would give away the information he needed.  
  
All the teachers were seated at the front table, various plates magically being passed around with nods of acknowledgement. Professor Snape summoned a coffee pot, his features fixed in a sleep-deprived scowl.  
  
Harry frowned, hoping his mood wouldn’t affect their first Potions class – as it was right after breakfast. He fervently hoped the coffee was strong enough. He continued his surveillance and found himself assaulted with that now-familiar pain.  
  
“Again?” Blaise asked, in distaste. He glanced at the staff table, noticing the way Professor Quirrell seemed locked in a death glare with the back of Harry’s head before abruptly standing up and departing.  
  
Harry groaned. “I think it was Professor Snape again.”  
  
Across the table, Draco gritted his teeth.  
  
“I don’t think so.” Blaise intercepted, before Draco said something he’d regret in thirty seconds. “I have this weird feeling about Quirrell.”  
  
“Quirrell?” Harry asked, looking back at the staff table, but the stuttering professor was already gone. He watched as Professor Snape stood up and followed the Headmaster out a side door, the scowl on his face somehow deeper and more intense.  
  
“The rules still stand.” Blaise continued, shifting Harry’s attention. “You need to make eye contact when you’re alone – even Professor Snape – even if just to rule him out.” he added hastily, in order to appease Draco’s warning glare.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
They returned to their breakfast, each one of them silently reflecting on different things. Harry kept thinking about the mysterious item Hagrid had been sent to pick up, wondering what it was. Wondering if it had anything to do with these Dark, thieving wizards.  
  
Blaise was debating the properties of Wolfsbane and Belladonna in his head, his argument with Daphne still the forefront and most important. Aconitum and Atropine were both healing agents and both fairly useful, but the plants they derived from were the key difference!  
  
Draco was staring at the empty chair Professor Snape had been sitting at, anger still coursing through his veins. They didn’t know the Professor like he did. They didn’t grow up with him there, like he did. They didn’t know how gentle the man’s fingers could be, as he applied healing salve on skinned knees. They didn’t know the soothing voice that calmed child-made nightmares and tears. They didn’t know the soft-spoken praise that replaced the look of disdain his own father gave. They didn’t know anything.  
  
\--  
  
“This particular stalk of nettle,” Professor Snape lectured, as he levitated a vibrant green plant with large leaves. “is known for the stinging hairs on its leaves. It grows wildly in the Northern regions, as it prefers the cold and wet environment the Highlands offer."  
  
He stepped towards the plant, fingers hovering near the fine hair along the stem. “While touching it bare-handedly causes some fairly uncomfortable welts, simmering it draws out healing properties that induce the exact opposite.”  
  
Harry raised his hand, glancing at the text in front of him for reassurance. He had written down careful notes on snake fangs and horned slugs, but hadn’t started on this ingredient.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Potter?” the professor asked, setting the stinging nettle back on the work table that separated him from his students.  
  
“The textbook doesn’t mention nettle, sir.” he explained.  
  
“The textbook isn’t the law.” Professor Snape sneered disdainfully, flicking Harry’s book shut with a flick of his wand. “There is always opportunity for improvement, a chance to expand and challenge the mind.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“That, however, is not an invitation for open experimentation.” the Potions Master glared at the rest of the classroom. “Wizards greater than you have tried – and failed – to enhance already established potions. Students of your aptitude will do nothing but ensue chaos, and then you will have to deal with me.”  
  
The first year students nodded apprehensively.  
  
“Now, as I was saying.” Snape smirked to himself, returning to the potion ingredients laid out in front of them. “Once you’ve added the powdered snake fangs, you must bring the potion to a simmer. Ms. Granger, since you seem fairly adept, what temperature would that be?”  
  
“About ninety-five degrees Celsius, sir.” Hermione answered proudly, scribbling out her answer on her page of notes. They were very well detailed, already filling the page. Harry admired them from across the aisle, comparing them to his own haphazard and heavily abbreviated notes.  
  
“Correct.” Professor Snape nodded, flicking his wand at the cauldron of water on the table. Ribbons of steam rose up. “Calibrate your thermometers before beginning, to ensure the temperature is correct. While there’s leeway in this potion, more advanced potions will succumb if the temperature is not exact. It’s best to form the habit right away.”  
  
“Sir?” Theo raised his hand, setting down his quill. “Doesn’t magic help give an exact reading? Why do we have to calibrate?”  
  
Professor Snape repressed a smile; it seemed this class was more attentive than the last. Perhaps there was hope yet. “There is more to potion making than carrying out instructions, Mr. Nott.” he began. “While you’ll rarely get to wave your wand, the true magic comes from within yourself.”  
  
“Here we go.” Ron snorted under his breath to his tablemate.  
  
“Two points, Mr. Weasley.” Severus admonished, otherwise ignoring him. “The reason why a wizard can brew, but a muggle cannot – even if given the same ingredients, is because the power comes from one’s magical core. Every time you brew, your own magic is what gives the potion life, what gives it potential.”  
  
Theo nodded, discreetly writing down the statement, but remaining attentive. A table in front, Harry exchanged another excited look with Draco.  
  
“While you can magically spell a thermometer to be accurate, the excess magic can disrupt the delicate balance of a brew – once again, there is leeway now, but not with more advanced potions. Some Potioneers will spell stirring sticks and can yield different results than those who counted out fifty-six stirs by hand.” Professor Snape continued, almost sitting on the edge of his desk. His expression had gone distant, his voice thoughtful. “It’s a fascinating factor, if you think about it. Truly something that requires more research and trial…” he trailed off, realizing he had stopped lecturing and was merely thinking aloud.  
  
He cleared his throat, filing the idea away for a more appropriate time. Perhaps it could be an assignment for his advanced class – or his next published paper. For now, the only students who were still paying attention aside from Theodore Nott were Ms. Granger and Harry Potter.  
  
It appeared he had more than one potential student this year.  
  
Even if one was a Gryffindor.  
  
“Continuing with our lecture,” he stood up, levitating the plant again. “When the potion has reached the aforementioned temperature, you will add the nettle. I would advise a delicate chiffonade. _Diffindo_.”  
  
He returned the rest of the nettle to the work table, keeping the focus on the thin ribbon he had cut off. “You will add fifteen grams, raise the heat, and stir until it reaches two hundred and fifty degrees. After ten seconds, you will lower the heat and let the potion brew until it reaches a pale gray color – anywhere from thirty-three to forty-five minutes. Then, we shall continue the lecture on part two. The ingredients are in the storeroom to your left – begin.”  
  
The classroom became a cacophony of sounds as the students gathered their ingredients and set up their cauldrons. There was the crunching scrape of snake fangs being ground into mortars and the flickering of flame as water was heated up.  
  
Harry counted out his six fangs from the small jar Draco had brought to their table. It was a lot more work to turn them into powder than Professor Snape had made it seem.  
  
“Do you think it has to be perfect?” he asked Draco softly. They hadn’t been banned from talking, but he didn’t want to disrupt the class either. “I don’t think I can grind it any more than this.”  
  
“Try moving the pestle back and forth like this,” Draco demonstrated. “instead of just smashing up and down. It seems to help.”  
  
“Alright.” Harry attempted the advice, and admired the outcome. It still wasn’t all powder, but the pieces weren’t any bigger than flakes of salt.  
  
The water was beginning to warm, so he stirred in the crushed fang and turned the heat up. The thermometer was resting in the water, the red mercury slowly rising. He turned to Draco, who had pulled a pair of thin dragonhide gloves out of his potions kit. “Oh, I don’t have a pair of those.” he frowned to himself, glancing around the classroom.  
  
“I’ll cut enough for both of us.” Draco promised, rolling the soft plant the way Professor Snape had showed them. He hovered the small knife over it. “Do you think this is thin enough?”  
  
“A little more, I think.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
While Draco sliced the nettle, Harry checked the temperature on both their cauldrons and continued observing the classroom. Much like the two of them, a lot of the tables had left the nettle cutting to those who owned gloves. Neither Ron Weasley nor his tablemate, Dean Thomas, had gloves and were haphazardly slamming the knife down, in an attempt to cut the nettle without actually touching it.    
  
Professor Snape was watching them with dismay, but he quickly assumed an apathetic expression and turned his back to them. If they didn’t want to ask for a pair of gloves, then he wasn’t going to offer the help. School was a learning environment, and the two presumptuous Gryffindors were going to learn _something_ before class was over.  
  
“It’s all cut.” Draco announced, setting down the potions knife. He removed one of his gloves and handed it to Harry, who donned it with admiration. “Oh, mine’s simmering.”  
  
Harry’s potion was still a few degrees under, so he turned the heat a little higher. The flames licked the bottom of the pewter, transforming into soft waves of steam on the other side. As the mercury rose past the ninety-five on the thermometer, Harry sprinkled the pile of chopped nettle Draco had separated for him into the water.  
  
Despite being behind Draco, Harry’s potion reached the required temperature much sooner. He counted the seconds as he stirred, and then turned the heat as low as possible.  
  
“I’m done.” he whispered proudly, watching as the contents of Draco’s cauldron bubbled violently, swirls of green running underneath the rough waves. His own potion was calming down, green ribbons dancing their way to the bottom.  
  
“Already?”  
  
Harry nodded proudly, returning his attention to the classroom. Some students were standing over their caldrons, stirring through the vapor. A few were still slicing their stinging nettle and one was still grinding snake fangs!  
  
“Tell me, Ms. Granger.” Professor Snape’s voice broke through the murmured chatter. “How is it that you’ve almost reached the final stage, while your seatmate is still slicing nettle leaves?”  
  
“I just finished faster, sir.” Hermione shrugged, nervously. “Besides, we only had one pair of gloves.”  
  
“It didn’t occur to you that your partner is sitting beside you for a reason?” Professor Snape asked, looking down at the two Gryffindors. “To work together and help each other out? If I may use Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter as an example?”  
  
Harry blushed slightly, feeling his forehead prickle with anxiety as a handful of students turned to look at them. The classroom had fallen silent. Meanwhile, Draco had finished his potion and turned the flame down with a flourish, preening.  
  
“Mr. Potter doesn’t own a pair of dragonhide gloves,” the professor pointed out. “Yet, Mr. Malfoy graciously cut the nettle for the both of them. As did many of others in this classroom.”  
  
“I didn’t realize I could help, s-sir.” Hermione stammered out. She glanced helplessly at Neville, who was intensely studying his chiffonade, pointedly ignoring the confrontation happening right next to him.  
  
“You can’t.” Professor Snape stated, a cold glare forming. He was enjoying the fearful and confused expression flitting across Ms. Granger’s face.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“You cannot do the work for him, nor direct him through the steps.” Professor Snape amended, “but you can keep from being insolent and selfish when it comes to attaining high marks. If there is a balance in the workload, it is…acceptable.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Mr. Longbottom!” Snape barked out, as the round-faced boy continued to study his bruising plant, ignoring the task at hand. “You have a potion to finish.”  
  
“Y-yes, sir.” Neville sputtered out, sitting up. He checked the temperature of his water, eyes widening as he realized it was hotter than it should be.  
  
Ideally, one would wait for the water to cool slightly, but Professor Snape was as quite intimidating, and when the man loomed over you with such a cold glare…well, it was easy to forget things in hasty panic.  
  
Neville gathered the plant in a tight fist, moving towards the boiling cauldron. It was then that he felt the sharp heat in his palm, the sudden itch on his fingers; it was then that he realized what he had just done.  
  
“Oh, bugger!” he hissed out, opening his hand and shaking off the – literally – stinging nettle. He accidentally hit the stand, causing a chain reaction of rocking cauldron and then splashing hot water – over the table, himself, Hermione, and unfortunately, Professor Snape.  
  
It was deathly silent.  
  
“I-I’m sorry.” Neville Longbottom stammered out, nursing his burning hand against his chest; hurting from both boiling water and poisonous plant.  
  
“You idiot boy.” Professor Snape ground out, brandishing his wand. He vanished the water and used a single finger to stop the shaking cauldron. “You absolutely useless, ludicrous, idiot boy.”  
  
“Sir.” Harry spoke up, his voice trembling.  
  
Professor Snape looked at him, blinking. He was pale-faced and weakly defiant, but defiant nonetheless.  
  
It was an accident.” Harry defended the Gryffindor. “It could have happened to anyone. There’s no reason to insult Neville when he’s already hurt!”  
  
Snape blinked again, resisting the urge to take points from his own house. He let the subsiding pain from the boiling water ground him.  
  
“ _Accio_ Witchhazel Salve.” he commanded stiffly, putting a hand out for the small pot that was summoned from a closed cabinet door. He placed it in front of Neville, who was gritting his teeth and fighting back tears. “Put this on your hand, and then go to Madame Pomfrey.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
He then turned to Hermione and performed a drying charm on the Gryffindors robe before turning and walking away. He was stopped by the child clearing her throat in concern.  
  
“Uh, what about my potion?” she gestured half-heartedly towards her over-boiled cauldron. Professor Snape’s reprimand had kept her from turning the flames down at the correct time.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Take notes on the second part and you may attempt the potion again next week while the rest of the class is working on researching our next project.”   
  
"What about Neville, sir?"  
  
Severus refrained from rolling his eyes. "Mr. Longbottom will be receiving a zero for his foolishness." He stepped back and addressed the rest of the class. “If we’re all done wreaking havoc in my classroom and are finished with step one…”  
  
Harry eyed his tepid potion dubiously, as he scrawled out the second set of notes. It was supposed to be a pale gray, and instead it was an almost milky white – like when he added too much milk to his tea.  
  
Beside him, Draco’s potion was a perfect silver.  
  
“You are to turn the flames off completely before adding the porcupine quills.” Professor Snape lectured, his voice monotone, his passion dead once again. “When your potion is done, you will pour it through a sieve and into a phial.”  
  
He used his wand to open a cabinet door. “There are empty phials over there, obtain one when your potion is finished, to give it a moment to settle. You may begin.”  
  
Draco shook four horned slugs into an empty jar, not wanting to touch the ghastly things first-hand. Harry shook his head and grinned, picking one up.  
  
“Get that away from me.” Draco grimaced, leaning away from the dripping gastropod. “I don’t want to think about what it feels like.”  
  
“It’s all tough.” Harry observed, dropping it into the cauldron. “Sort of like chicken, that’s been overcooked.”  
  
Draco turned an almost green color.  
  
“Mr. Malfoy?” Professor Snape asked, reaching their table as he made his way around the classroom once more. “Are you doing alright?”  
  
“It’s just the slugs, Professor.” Harry informed his Head of House. “He didn’t like me comparing them to overcooked chicken.”  
  
“Yes, well, they are stewed by students in detention.” Snape intoned dryly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the inattentive half-wits overdid it."  
  
Draco tuned out the professor, not wanting to think about students _boiling slugs_ as part of their detention. He vowed then to never cause trouble.  
  
“I suggest you get over your troubles, Draco.” Professor Snape mused. “There are worst ingredients to come.”  
  
“Unfortunately.”  
  
“I commend you on your potion thus far.” Snape continued eyeing the silver hue with an admiring gaze. “It’s impressive.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
He turned to Harry’s cauldron, swirling the stirring stick through the cloudy water. “It appears yours is off, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Do you know why?”  
  
“No, sir.” Harry shook his head, his chest tightening. He just wanted to impress him! It was only the first class and he’d already messed up twice.  
  
“The nettle is good, if somewhat crooked.” Snape observed, picking up a clump with the stirrer. “Keep your knife straight, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“You’ve followed the steps fairly well, Mr. Potter.” Snape complimented, leaving the cauldron alone. “There should be nothing wrong with it, if not weak. I’m assuming you turned the flames up _before_ it simmered?”  
  
Harry nodded, guiltily.  
  
“Potion making requires patience. Everything must come into place at the right time, but at its own time. Raising the heat forced everything to brew quicker – before the ingredients had enough time to soften. Thus, it came out pale. Diluted. Weak."  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“The salve will come together as needed, but it would require a thicker application to yield the same result as a more potent brew, you understand?”  
  
“Yes, sir."  
  
“You won’t need to redo it.” Professor Snape decided, watching as Harry dropped in the last slug and turned the heat off. “Just remember that everything you do has a cause and effect when it comes to potions.”  
  
“It’s quite interesting, isn’t it?” Harry asked, wanting to sound intellectual and keen. “How such tiny things make such big differences?”  
  
“Quite.” Snape agreed, his tone slightly less listless, his eyes just a little bit brighter. “There are many books published on the matter, if you care to learn about some highly intriguing changes others have learned.”  
  
Harry nodded. “If you have any suggestions?”  
  
Snape eyed him carefully, weighing the options. He was supposed to distance himself and make it clear he didn’t care for the Potter boy, not invite him for tea. He shrugged it off; this wasn’t tea. This was a student making an educational inquiry. “Stay after class.”  
  
Harry nodded happily, choosing two porcupine quills and continuing to the last few steps. Professor Snape chose that moment to move onto the next table, asking the Slytherin pair behind them a question about their progress.  
  
“Do you really care about that?” Draco asked quietly, as Professor Snape left Blaise and Theo and continued onto Tracey and Millicent. “The cause and effect in potions? You realize it’s research on things like using different kinds of stirring rods and starting out with room temperature water over cold?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “He looked like he was enjoying the class until the thing with Hermione and Neville. I think he just wants someone to share the excitement with him.”  
  
“We’re boiling slugs and snake teeth.” Draco shuddered. “What’s so exciting about that? It’s not like Transfiguration where we can literally make teacups out of feathers.”  
  
“I think it’s exciting.” Harry argued. “Yeah, we’re just boiling things in a pot, but mine was too hot and it turned white, where yours was gray! Nothing else was different between ours. I mean, look at it! It’s blue now!”  
  
“Muggle-Born.” Draco muttered in amazement.  
  
“I’m a half-blood.” Harry shook his head. “And honestly, I think I feel bad for you and the rest of the pureblood wizards.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Think about it.” Harry spoke passionately. “You were raised with magic. You can’t appreciate what you have, because you were never without it. There are paintings that move and portraits that speak! There are stairwells that travel and doorways that just disappear. To you, it’s probably just annoying to deal with, but to someone who’s only lived with magic for a few days, it’s incredible! I can’t even begin to imagine what else there is, what else magic can do. I can mix a few ingredients, but because of _magic_ it becomes a potion that helps people.”  
  
“Very well said, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape commented, returning to the front of the room. “But, as there are only minutes left of class, I suggest you put an end to your soliloquy, and continue with bottling your potion.”  
  
“Yes, sir."  
  
He turned his back to Draco, giving him a moment to think, as he gathered two phials for himself and his friend. He strained the thick potion, watching as the powdered fang seemed to shimmer within the blue gel.  
  
He labeled the glass vial and went to place it on Professor Snape’s desk, where a handful of bottles were also waiting to be graded. There were varying shades of blue, ranging from almost white to something reminiscent of the ocean at storm.  
  
Professor Snape eyed them disdainfully and dismissed the class. He perched on the edge of his desk as the students filed out for lunch, nodding at Harry who stayed behind.  
  
“Did you really want that list of books, Mr. Potter?” he asked, picking up the lightest phial and shaking it. The movement caused the precarious balance of ingredients to shift and fall, turning the potion a murky gray.  
  
He tossed it away and made a note of the student’s name.  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
“Not to insult your intellectual level, but you are eleven.” Severus sniffed, moving onto the next one. “A lot of the text deals with indefinite and abstract properties, varying levels of induction, and even the breakdown of atoms.”  
  
“I thought you couldn’t break down an atom, sir?”  
  
“You can rearrange them.” Professor Snape recalled, transfiguration not having been his best subject. “This specific branch also pertains to magical interference – whether natural or synthetic.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
Snape rolled his eyes, knowing the boy barely understood a word. _“Atoms and Alchemy_ by Wildmere Erantz, which covers the experimental origins of potions.” he wrote down the title on a scrap piece of paper. “Personally, I enjoyed Merchant Bile’s _The Elemental Effects of Elements_ , which breaks down the reactions of very common potion ingredients – and how subtle changes in environment affect them.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.” Harry grinned appreciatively, tucking the paper into the same pocket as the note he received from Hagrid.  
  
“You can find both books in the library.” Snape shrugged, writing down a comment on the proceeding potion. This one was mildly impressive, if not a total disaster. “Go to lunch, Mr. Potter. You’re keeping not only me, but Mr. Malfoy, whom I presume is still waiting in the hallway."  
  
Draco peered into the classroom, after hearing his name. “Hello, sir.” he grinned sheepishly. “Harry.”  
  
“Goodbye, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape said, pointedly. “Draco.”  
  
He waved goodbye and followed Draco towards the swarming Great Hall, just realizing that his stomach was grumbling with hunger.  
  
\--  
  
“Sleep.” Draco mumbled happily, as he rolled over on his bed and pulled the curtains back. “I’ll never get enough of it.”  
  
It was Saturday morning, the start of their first weekend at Hogwarts. It meant they didn’t have to don their uniforms today, and more importantly – in Draco’s opinion – it meant breakfast in the Great Hall was an hour later.  
  
Harry grinned at his friend. He was used to waking up early, thanks to Aunt Petunia’s insistence, but it had been an honest treat to wake without an obligation to make breakfast or prepare for class. He had woken naturally, to nothing but silence, by nothing but the pale sunlight that streamed through charmed windows.  
  
“Morning.”  
  
“What time is it?” Draco asked, covering his mouth as he yawned delicately. His hair was sleep-ruffled and fell in gentle waves across his forehead.  
  
“Oh, um, _Tempus_.” Harry spoke, taking out his wand and drawing the invisible shape. “It’s almost eight-thirty. You know, this would be easier if we had an actual clock.”  
  
“I’ll ask Higgs.” Draco offered, sitting up with a stretch. “I think we've suffered the tempus charm enough.”  
  
“You mean we didn't have to cast this stupid charm every time we wanted to know the time?” Harry grumbled, shooting Blaise a glare.  
  
“You learn things faster if you need them.” Blaise pointed out.  
  
“Perhaps I'll owl Mother for one.” Draco thought aloud, slipping into a sweater that reminded Harry of toffee and a pair of black trousers. “I'm sure she wouldn't mind, and it would be a lot nicer than whatever the prefects have laying around.”  
  
"Are we allowed to do that?" Harry asked nervously.  
  
"Of course."   
  
“Besides,” Blaise added, closing the book he was reading. “The older students have plenty of things they’re not supposed to have.”  
  
“Yeah.” Draco laughed. “We’ll find out just what for sure when we win the first Quidditch game.”  
  
“We might not win.” Harry shrugged.  
  
“If Professor Snape is willing to break the rules for a first year, he did it for a reason. We’re going to win. If we don’t, well, it’ll be your fault.”  
  
“Catching the snitch doesn’t mean winning the game.” Harry frowned. “It’s just highly likely.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Didn’t you decide the fate of the Quidditch team rested on your hands?” Blaise recalled, glancing at Draco. “Wouldn’t that be your fault?”  
  
“No, it wouldn’t.”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“No one asked you, Zabini.” Draco muttered, pulling on his boots. “Besides, tryouts aren’t even until October. Harry might not make the team.”  
  
“He’ll make the team.”  
  
“Oh, why couldn’t I have gotten a room with Theo?” Harry complained, staring at the ceiling with faux remorse. “At least his books don’t argue all day.”  
  
“Magical books, Harry.” Draco reminded him. “Magical books.”  
  
Harry stuck his tongue out in response, as Draco closed the doors to the small armoire and returned to his bed, holding an apple.  
  
“We’re going down to breakfast in twenty minutes.” Blaise teased. “Are you really that hungry you can’t wait any longer?”  
  
“They’re good!” Draco defended his gift as Blaise laughed and reopened his book. “What are you reading?”  
  
“The Dark Tower."  
  
“Oh, I’ve read the first two.” Draco recalled.  
  
“What’s the Dark Tower?” Harry asked, as he began to sift through his belongings. They didn’t have to wear robes today, but that just eliminated more than half his closet and the remaining half was embarrassing at best.  
  
“It’s this cryptic book series, about a gunslinger and an evil sorcerer.” Draco explained, eyeing Harry’s wardrobe with contempt. “Father has them in his study – the third one just came out, but I haven’t gotten permission to read it yet.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Please don’t tell me you’re wearing that.” Draco groaned scornfully, watching as Harry pulled on an oversized red shirt and faded jeans. “What are those things even made of?”  
  
“They’re jeans!”  
  
“Jeans?” Draco asked, confused. He approached Harry and ran his fingers down the pant leg, feeling the worn mesh of blues. “They’re not very soft.”  
  
He offered his own sleeve in comparison. “Cashmere.” he explained, as Harry fingered the warm sweater. “It feels much better than those jeans."  
  
Harry shrugged, tugging anxiously at the hem of his cotton shirt.  
  
“You can’t walk out in that.” Draco sniffed, distaste coloring his features. “I can’t allow you to walk out in that.”  
  
“I don’t have anything else.” Harry muttered.  
  
“Well, it’s a good thing I have plenty.” Draco remarked, opening the door to his armoire again. He returned with a pair of cotton slacks and a gray sweater. “These might be a little long, as I’m taller, but they should work."   
  
Harry dressed awkwardly, hyper-aware of the two boys watching him dress. The trousers weren’t that much longer, as most of Draco’s height was in his torso, but that meant the sweater was longer than it was meant to be.  
  
Draco nodded approvingly. “You can keep those.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
He sat down, tugging at the sleeves of the sweater and reveling in the soft material. This was probably the nicest thing Harry had ever donned – and they were _his_. He turned to Blaise, who was giving Draco an appreciative look. “So, an evil sorcerer?”  
  
“It’s about murder and magic, and other worlds.” Blaise turned his attention to Harry. “It’s kind of like a dark adventure book.”  
  
“There’s talking skeletons and demons in the next book.” Draco interjected, ignoring Blaise’s dirty book. “One of the characters takes the skeletons jawbone with him.”  
  
“That’s awful.” Harry shook his head, a fascinated grin perched on his lips as Draco mouthed an apology to Blaise.  
  
“Here.” Blaise decided, marking his place and turning to the front page. “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." he read aloud. "The desert was the apotheosis of all deserts; huge and standing to the sky for what might have been parsecs in all directions. White; blinding; waterless; without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon and the devil grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, and death..."   
  
\--  
  
“Oh, hello Hermione!” Harry greeted the bushy-haired Gryffindor, as he reached the doors of the Great Hall. It was midday, and students were lazily making their way towards the Hall for food and drink.  
  
“Hi, Harry.”  
  
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked, standing beside her.  
  
“Neville.”  
  
“Oh, okay.” Harry nodded, searching the grand staircase for him. They stood in silence, which Harry found quite comfortable. He didn’t like always having to talk; sometimes, he just enjoyed being in someone else’s presence. It seemed like Hermione didn’t feel the same way about it.  
  
She was biting her lower lip between her teeth, in the same worried manner Harry would sometimes succumb to. “Is everything alright?” he finally asked, peering into the Great Hall after she glanced in for the third time.  
  
“Yeah.” she paused, then shook her head. “It’s the Gryffindor boys.” she admitted in a small voice. “They’re all mean to me – except for Neville, of course. The girls are kind of cruel too.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Hermione nodded, scuffing her shoe against the floor. “They keep making fun of me and calling me a bossy know-it-all.”  
  
“That’s not very nice.” Harry huffed, looking at the staircase for Neville.  
  
“It’s okay.” Hermione assured him. “It was the same at my old school too, so I just ignore it. Being sorted makes it hard to make friends though, when everyone in your house hates you.”  
  
“I don’t think everyone does.”  
  
“Everyone in our year does.”  
  
“Oh, ‘mione.” Harry sighed sympathetically, knowing exactly what that felt like. It was a surreal experience, having the support of his fellow Slytherins behind him – and having real friends too! That didn’t mean he was blind to the dark looks and whispered comments that followed him through the hallways.  
  
“Mione?” she asked, with a soft smile.  
  
“Oh, sorry.” Harry corrected himself. “Hermione.”  
  
“No, I like it.”  
  
“I’m your friend, ‘mione.” Harry assured her, leaning into her shoulder. She was warm and smelled like soap and wildflowers, her pink sweater worn and fuzzy.   
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Do you want to come with us to Hagrid’s?” Harry asked, straightening up. “He’s invited me and my friends over for tea.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Right now, actually.” Harry admitted, glancing down the hallway. “I’m waiting for Draco and Blaise to get here.”  
  
“I don’t have anything better to do.”  
  
“Good.” Harry grinned, catching sight of Draco, as he returned from the Owlery. He had wanted to send off his letter before lunch. “Wait, what about Neville?”  
  
“I wasn’t waiting for Neville.” Hermione confessed, smiling cautiously at Draco, as he reached the two of them. "I was just summoning the courage to walk into the Great Hall alone."  
  
“Oi, Potter.” Draco asked Harry, eyeing Hermione with distrust. “What are you doing hanging around a mu – a Gryffindor.”  
  
“It’s Hermione, and she’s my friend.” Harry informed him, firmly. “We met her on the train remember?”  
  
“Of course I do.” he sniffed, employing the manners he was raised with and took Hermione’s hand with a slight bow. “Draco Malfoy.”  
  
“Hermione Granger.” she curtsied awkwardly.  
  
He turned to Harry, raising an eyebrow. “First Longbottom, now Granger?”  
  
“People need friends, Draco.”  
  
“I swear, it’s like you think you’re adopting helpless puppies or something.” Draco shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
Thankfully, Blaise chose that moment to arrive. As the four trekked across the grounds, wind flitting three green scarves and one red, Harry asked the question that had been forming since breakfast yesterday. “Should we ask about Gringotts?"  
  
“Gringotts?” Hermione asked.  
  
Harry spent the walk explaining the situation to her, starting from the way Hagrid had declared he was on important Hogwarts business to everyone in earshot, to the Daily Prophet article that had been printed on Friday’s newspaper.  
  
“That can’t be just a coincidence.” Hermione mused thoughtfully.  
  
“See?”  
  
“We didn’t say it wasn’t.” Draco reminded him.  
  
“Actually, I did.” Blaise recalled.  
  
“I think we should ask him.” Hermione decided, as they reached the lopsided cabin with its thatched roof. Thick plumes of smoke were escaping from the stone chimney.  
  
“Fine.” Blaise conceded. “But, this sounds like it’s really important – especially if he wouldn’t even tell Harry what he was getting that day, so we have to tread carefully.”  
  
“Meaning?”  
  
“Meaning,” Draco grinned. “It’s time to act like a Slytherin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Minor editing has been made since this chapter's original posting.]


	6. Hagrid's Hut.

Harry reached the front door first and knocked. There was a bustle of activity behind the wooden frame and a muffled shout of “Back, Fang!” before the door opened, revealing a gust of warm air and the scent of cured meats.   
  
“Oi, ‘ello there, Harry!”  Hagrid greeted, holding onto the collar of a black boarhound. The dog was fighting with his owners grip, barking loudly in excitement. “Fang! Back!”  
  
He opened the door further, ushering the group of children inside. The dog took the opportunity to sniff everyone in passing, wagging his tail at the new company. “Sorry abou’ him,” Hagrid apologized, closing the door. “He gets excited when we ‘ave guests.”  
  
“It’s alright.” Harry shrugged, nervously petting the Mastiff’s head. The dog seemed satisfied with the attention, finally trotting to a large rug, where he curled up and watched everyone.  
  
Hagrid filled a copper kettle with water and placed it on the stove, lighting tall flames underneath it. The kettle began to steam almost immediately, like magic. The room was crowded and cozy, with a massive bed taking over half the space and thick red curtains blocking the windows. There was a low fire going, casting the room in a soft orange glow.  
  
“Now, who do we have ‘ere?” the groundskeeper asked, wiping his hands on a towel reminiscent in size to a tablecloth.  
  
“This is Hermione Granger, she’s a Gryffindor.” Harry introduced his friends, pointing to each of them in turn. “This is Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy; they’re both Slytherins, like me.  
  
“Malfoy, eh?” Hagrid asked, dumping a measure of tea leaves into the kettle. “Ye wouldn’ happen to be the son of Lucius Malfoy, would ye?”   
  
“The very one.” Draco answered importantly, turning his chin up. He had seated himself at the thick slab of wood that made up the table, watching Hagrid’s dog in distrust.  
  
“He sure was somethin’, yer father.” Hagrid recalled, bringing the kettle to the table. “Never got into trouble, but then again, no one could ever prove if he’d done it.”  He paused, glancing at Harry. “Yer father, though, oh, he was definitely somethin’.”  
  
Harry accepted the mug of tea, adding a few spoonfuls of sugar to the amber brew. There was a plate of scones, scattered with walnuts and raisins, sitting on the table. They quickly learned it would be impossible to bite into them. “You knew my father? When he was a student?”  
  
“Aye.” Hagrid nodding, picking one up. He bit into it easily, dipping the remaining half into his tea. “Rock cakes – me own recipe.” he explained, finishing off the pastry. “He and his friends got into some real trouble when they were at Hogwarts. Good bunch of lads. It’s a real pity what happened to them.”  
  
“What happened?” Hermione asked, holding her rock cake in her tea for a prolonged period of time, hoping to soften it.  
  
“War happened.” Hagrid sighed, tipping back his tea. “We lost a good lo’ of people when You Know Who was alive. Yer parents would be proud to see ye now, Harry.”  
  
Harry shrugged, gripping the hem of Draco’s – of his – sweater. He didn’t want to be hearing this conversation. He didn’t care if his parents were proud of him or not. He didn’t care if they were painted like heroes. They were dead, and nothing was going to bring them back.  
  
“Did you know Harry made the Quidditch team?” Draco asked, changing the topic. Harry’s face was becoming sad again, and Draco wasn’t going to allow that. “He’s going to be a Seeker. Professor Snape broke the rules for him and everything.”  
  
“Really now?” Hagrid asked, beaming. “Wot do you think abou’ that?”  
  
“Youngest Seeker in a Century.” Blaise added, completely giving up on the Rock cake. Tea was not softening it in the slightest.  
  
“Yer father was on the Quidditch team, ye know?” Hagrid remembered. “He was Chaser for Gryffindor, he and Sirius Black were."  
  
“Who?” Harry asked, as Draco cringed.  
  
“Wot?” Hagrid asked, slamming his teacup down nervously. “Oh, ‘e was no one. Jus’ a friend of yer fathers and what not. He – yer father – was quite the flyer. I’m not surprised ye got that talent from ‘im, but I’m surprised it was ‘Perfessor Snape who bent the rules.”  
  
“Professor Snape does seem kind of strict.” Hermione agreed.  
  
“Seems?” Hagrid laughed, his voice booming. “Nah, the ‘Perfessor is a nice fellow. He comes and visits every once and a while, always nice to have him ‘ere. How have yer classes been? Settlin’ well at Hogwarts?”  
  
“Hogwarts is incredible.” Harry told him, hands wrapped around his mug. The cups were huge in small hands, the tea enough to fill a standard kettle. “It’s so big! I think I would still be getting lost finding my classes if it weren’t for the map Blaise drew.”  
  
Blaise smirked in thanks.  
  
“It’s the biggest place I’ve ever been in!” Hermione added.  
  
“Tha’ it is.”  
  
“Gringotts was pretty big too.” Harry brought up, smiling fondly. “The tracks seemed to go for miles and it took forever before we reached Dumbledore’s vault, remember Hagrid?”  
  
Hagrid shuffled uncomfortably. “It goes even deeper.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Aye.” Hagrid nodded, busying himself with breaking another rock cake. “Some o’ the older vaults lay even deeper undergroun’ – those belong to the ancient pureblood families. They’re the most guarded o’ all.”  
  
Draco straightened up, his air of importance back.  
  
“It must be pretty hard to break into it.” Harry commented, casually taking a sip of tea before continuing. “What, with dragons guarding the bottom and goblin-only doors.”  
  
“Dragons?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.  
  
“Gringotts is the most secure place a wizard can put ‘is valuables. No place safer than Gringotts, ‘cept Hogwarts o’course.”  
  
“Oh, that reminds me!” Blaise interrupted, looking at Draco. “Did you see the Daily Prophet? Someone actually tried to break into one of the vaults at Gringotts.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Harry watched Hagrid, eyeing the way he nervously shifted in his seat. He was staring into his tea, clearly listening.  
  
“You don’t think it could have been the Malfoy vault, do you?”  
  
“I’ll have to ask Father.” Draco shrugged, off-handedly. “When did it happen?”  
  
“The 31st of July.”  
  
“Hagrid!” Harry started, faking realization. “That was the day we went to Diagon Alley, wasn’t it? Do you suppose they could have been there at the same time?”  
  
“I suppose anything’s possible.” Hagrid shrugged it off. “Nothin’ to be concernin’ yourself over though. Tell me about yer classes.”  
  
Recognizing the end of a conversation when it happened, the first years all took turning telling Hagrid about their classes and which ones they seemed to like most. Everyone was in agreement that History of Magic was the worst and that Defense was the most disappointing.  
  
“I don’t know what ‘Perfessor Dumbledore was thinkin’.” Hagrid admitted, as they told him how the class had been irritating at best and a train wreck at worst.  “Still, it mus’ be hard to have to find a Defense teacher every year.”  
  
“Why does he?” Harry asked, remembering a conversation from the train. “Does no one like teaching Defense or something?”  
  
“There’s ‘upposed to be a curse.” Hagrid explained. “You Know Who put it on, when old Dumbledore din’t want to give him a job here. Got right mad, did he. The school hasn’t had a 'perfessor teach for longer than a year since.” He paused. “That’s probably why 'Perfessor Dumbledore won’t give Snape the job.”   
  
“Snape?” Harry asked, interested.  
  
“Oi, I don’t think I’m supposed to be tellin’ you abou’ that.”  
  
“Everyone knows Professor Snape wants the Defense job.” Draco sighed, feigning boredom. He gave Harry a pointed look. “You don’t have to worry.”  
  
Hagrid looked relieved. “Snape’s one o’ Dumbledore’s favorites. Been workin’ for him for near twelve years now, ever since he was a lad. Why, when Snape started teachin’, he was teachin’ his own classmates. Must ‘ave been hard for him, facing those who saw what ‘appened to him, as a boy.”  
  
“What happened?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Bah, children can be mean, is all.” Hagrid answered, looking uncomfortable. “Youngest Seeker in a Century, eh?” he asked Harry, deflecting. “That’s mighty impressive. You best not let it get in the way of yer studies, or 'Perfessor Snape will take that broomstick faster than ye can blink.”  
  
“He’d do that?” Harry asked, paling.  
  
“Oi, I’ve seen 'Perfessor Snape kick out the team captain because ‘is marks weren’t acceptable. He migh’ be real strict, but he looks out for his Slytherins, that man does. Expects a lot, but he’s always there to help. He’s a good man, he just shows it differently.”  
  
“I told you.” Draco whispered, almost inaudibly.  
  
“I din’t expect ye to be Slytherin, truth be told.” Hagrid admitted. “I thought ye’d be in Gryffindor, like yer parents were.”  
  
“So did everyone else.” Harry responded bitterly.  
  
“Are the other students givin’ ye trouble?”  
  
“Some of the Gryffindors.” Harry shrugged, not wanting to get into it. He had learned to take care of his problems himself. He didn’t need anyone else to intervene. He was hoping the topic would end with his sullen comment.  
  
“Ron Weasley has been.” Hermione volunteered, trying to be helpful. She didn’t catch the scowl Harry sent her way, but Draco did.  
  
“Weasley, eh?” Hagrid raised a bushy eyebrow. “I ‘aven’t met that one, but I’ve been chasin’ his older brothers away from the Forbidden Fores’ since their firs’ day.”  
  
“The twins?”  
  
“Aye, do ye want me to tell someone abou’ him? 'Perfessor Snape might seem a bi’ scary – don’t seem to like no one, that one, but he cares alright.  Perfessor Dumbledore too. Good man Dumbledore, good man.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.” Harry answered, now his turn to look uncomfortable.  
  
“I didn’t realize it was getting so late.” Draco stood up abruptly. “We have homework we need to start working on, if we want to have any free time tomorrow.”  
  
Hagrid nodded. “Best be goin’ then. It was good ‘aving you lot visit."  
  
“Thanks for having us.”  
  
“No’ a problem.” Hagrid walked them to the door, waving them off. “I’ll send word, and we can ‘ave a cuppa ‘gain soon, alrigh’?”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
\--  
  
“I told you.”  
  
“Harry, we literally didn’t learn anything.” Draco sighed, as they headed back towards the castle. The sun had shifted towards the west, signifying late afternoon. “Well, perhaps there were some things.”  
  
“Did you know Professor Snape wanted the Defense post?” Harry asked, momentarily distracted by the information he had received.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Practically everyone does.” Blaise added, opening the castle door and letting everyone in.   
  
“What about the curse?”  
  
“I haven’t heard anything about that.” Draco admitted. “I don’t think my Father knows anything about it, either. If he did, he probably wouldn’t be writing angry letters to the Headmaster every year.”  
  
“He what?”  
  
Draco waved it off. “Father thinks Professor Snape should have the post. He’s on the Board of Governors, you know? He always puts in word for Snape, but it never did anything. If there really is a curse, perhaps he should stop.”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry shook his head. “Anyway. I told you it was the same vault!”  
  
“Harry, we literally didn’t get any answers. In fact, he completely changed the topic when it was brought up. We don’t know anything. The only thing we know is not to eat Hagrid’s rock cakes and that we completely missed lunch.”  
  
“That’s the point.” Hermione interjected.  
  
Draco turned to stare at her, having completely forgotten about her. “That we missed lunch? No offense Granger, but I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“That he changed topics!” she explained, exasperated. “It’s like he didn’t want us to ask questions about it. He was really suspicious about it, like he had something to hide. We might not have gotten a straight answer, but he knows _something_.”  
  
It made sense, really. Still, Draco sniffed and turned away. He wasn’t about to agree with a Gryffindor, regardless of how fond Harry was of her. She was a muggleborn after all, and her opinions meant nothing to him.  
  
“I think you’re reaching.” Blaise added.  
  
“I think she’s right.” Harry defended.  
  
“Of course you think she’s right.” Blaise snorted, as they stood by the staircase to the dungeons. “It supports your theory. A theory about something that doesn’t even concern us. It wasn’t your – or any of our – vaults, and nothing was stolen anyway.”  
  
“Didn’t you hear what Hagrid said?”  
  
“Hagrid said a lot of things."  
  
“There’s no safer place than Gringotts – except Hogwarts.” Harry reminded him, somewhat on edge. “If it’s no longer at Gringotts, then it has to be here! It was moved! They knew it wasn’t safe there and they probably brought it here! What if the thief tries to come here? At Hogwarts, where we all are? Then it’s definitely our business.”  
  
“Now you’re definitely reaching.” Blaise sighed, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder and ushering him downstairs. “Let’s get back to the Common Room.”  
  
“Hermione!” Harry tried to turn around. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? It has to be here! There’s no other place it could be.”  
  
Hermione shrugged apologetically. “We don’t really have proof about that, Harry. The vault, maybe, but we don’t even know what “it” is. It could just be galleons, for all we know.”  
  
“It’s not galleons!” Harry insisted. “Hagrid was super secretive about it! It has to be something important, can’t you see that?”  
  
“Even so.”  
  
“It’s none of our business.” Draco sighed, taking a step down. “Please, can we just return to the common room, already? I’ve still got some apples left and I’m hungry.”  
  
“What’s all this?” a new voice spoke up, as a pair of students reached the bottom of the Grand Staircase, having descended from Gryffindor Tower. “Oh, would you look at that, George.” the red-head turned to his twin. “It’s Harry Potter.”  
  
“Hey, guys.” Harry greeted them.  
  
“What are you lot yelling about?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Nothing.” Harry muttered, brushing off Blaise’s hand. It seemed the conversation was dead without proof. Well, he’d get it, and then they’d understand something was definitely going on.  
  
“Nothing is always the best way to admit you’re doing –” Fred began with a cheeky grin.  
  
“Something.” George finished. “So, what is it? Or are you just going to –”  
  
“ – leave us hanging?”  
  
“We missed lunch.” Draco told them, taking a step down. He hadn’t officially met the infamous Weasley twins, but he had heard quite a lot. They were the first ones to receive detention from Professor Snape this year – and every year, apparently. “We were going to find something to eat.”  
  
“To the kitchens, I hope?”  
  
“We don’t know where that is.” Draco admitted warily. Students weren’t allowed to know where the kitchens were, let alone be in it. Visions of having to stew horned slugs and other similarly disgusting things flitted his mind. He grimaced.  
  
“There are kitchens?” Harry asked, intrigued. Any frustrations he held over his friends were momentarily washed away.  
  
“Of course there are.” Hermione told him, hands on her hips. “Where did you think all the food came from?”  
  
“Magic?”  
  
“According to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, you can’t conjure food.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“Well?” Fred asked. “We know where they are, so are we going to have lunch with Famous Harry Potter and his ickle friends or not?”  
  
“Definitely.” Harry grinned.  
  
“Follow us then.” George waved his hand, leading them down the staircase to the dungeons. They went a different direction than the Slytherin Common Room.  
  
Harry was talking to the twins animatedly, as they congratulated him on making the Quidditch Team. It turned out they were Beaters for Gryffindor and while they liked Harry, the twins didn’t play favorites on the field.  
  
Blaise had decided he didn't want to join. Hermione didn't like breaking the rules and Draco didn't like trusting Gryffindors, but hunger won out and the pair followed after the twins and Harry nervously.  
  
They ended up at a hallway similar to all the other ones in Hogwarts. The walls were lined with various paintings and portraits in ornate frames, with a painting of a bowl of fruit taking up an entire section. There was a stack of barrels at the end of the hallway; a curious sight.  
  
One of the twins leaned towards the fruit painting and – _tickled_ the pear? They watched in surprise as the large painting swung open to reveal a spacious rooms swarming with activity.   
  
There were four large tables identical to the ones in the Great Hall, piled high with stacks of dirty dishes and empty platters. House elves dressed in monogrammed towels similar to Mimsey's were spelling the dishes clean and pulling dozens of pies out of the ovens, drowning the kitchen in the smell of baked apples and cinnamon.   
  
As they all stepped through the portrait hole, several of the house-elves turned to greet them.

“Masters Weasley have returned!” a particularly tall elf enthused, bowing before the twins with a huge smile. “And they brings more friends!”

“Come here often?” Draco muttered under his breath.

The small crowd of elves shuffled as Mimsey made her way through the commotion. She bowed upon seeing Harry’s familiar face. “Master Harry Potter!”

“It’s Harry Potter!” another house-elf shouted, and there was a clatter of dishes being set down as they hurried over to greet the famous Boy Who Lived.

“Harry Potter!”

The elves stared confusedly at their remaining guests, but bowed just as excitedly when Draco announced himself as, “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

“I’m Hermione Granger.”

“And Miss. Granger!” Mimsey announced to the gathered elves.

“What’s can we do for Master’s Weasley and guests?” the elf from earlier asked, watching as Mimsey scurried away to a hidden room.

“My friends here missed lunch.” Fred explained, gesturing to the first years. He didn’t need to say more as the elf started nodding rapidly.   
  
Suddenly, they were being ushered to a table at the end of the kitchen, which Harry realized was where the staff table would be. They were quickly presented with trays of Harry's favorite rosemary bread and sausages, along with roasted potatoes, cut fruit and pumpkin juice.   
  
"Perhaps we should have lunch down here more often." Draco commented in awe, as one of the freshly baked pies was placed on the table, alongside a spelled container of vanilla ice cream.  
  
They enjoyed their private lunch, the subject of the Gringott vault dropped in the presence of the Weasley twins. Harry had to silently agree with Blaise - as much as he felt in his heart that it was the same vault, that the small package had to be hidden somewhere within the walls of Hogwarts - they just didn't have any proof of it.   
  
They each finished off a slice of the apple pie and smiled at each other sleepily. There were still a few hours until dinner and Harry had a slight inclination to nap beforehand. It was beginning to seem like a wonderful first weekend at Hogwarts.  
  
"Thank you for lunch, Dorset." George called out to the tall elf. "It was fantastic, like always."  
  
Dorset squealed in response, bowing deeply.   
  
"Dorset is probably our favorite." Fred shook his head. "He's pretty easy to pick out from the crowd and he's always just so excited to see us."   
  
"Always get on a house-elves good side," the other explained. "They're school elves, so they can't bond to us, but being friendly with them is just as good. They'll help get you out of trouble or sneak you an extra chocolate pudding when you're stuck in the hospital wing."  
  
Harry nodded, standing up. He was thanking the house elves for lunch when the portrait hole opened again. His heart dropped as the dark-cloaked figure of Professor Snape stepped through, a scowl painted on his face.   
  
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, his voice dripping with disapproval, as he caught sight of Harry and Draco.  
  
"Hello, sir." Harry greeted lamely.   
  
"Mr. Potter." Snape looked down at his charges. "Mr. Malfoy."  
  
"Sir." Draco acknowledged.   
  
"Tell me, were you not listening to the Welcome Speech when it was explicitly stated that students weren't allowed in the kitchens? Or did you decide the rules didn't apply to you?"   
  
"Yes, sir." Harry gulped.   
  
Snape raised an eyebrow.   
  
"I mean, no sir." Harry rectified, stumbling over his words. "I mean, we knew about the rules. We didn't think it didn't apply to us." His face was flushed by the time he managed to untangle his answers.   
  
"We missed lunch, sir." Draco attempted to salvage the situation. 

 

"At who's fault?"

"Ours." Harry frowned. "We went to see Hagrid instead."

"Uh-huh."

"Please sir." Hermione spoke up. Draco and Harry both shot her looks of desperation. If they couldn't rid the anger from Snape's face, a bloody Gryffindor wasn't going to do it. 

"It was our idea." one of the twins interrupted, taking the blame in stride. "We weren't about to let a couple first years go without food."

"How noble." Snape sighed, annoyed. "I should have known it would be the Weasley twins who would corrupt my Slytherins."

Harry and Draco said nothing, but looked on anxiously between the twins and their Head of House. 

"Detention Weasley and Weasley; and you Ms. Granger - someone of your intelligence should know better by now. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Hermione nodded earnestly, relieved to not have gotten detention so early in her Hogwarts career.   
  
"Back to Gryffindor Tower - now. Tomorrow at seven, my office, and the next three days that follow." Snape looked at the twins. They gave him a salute and followed Hermione out the portrait hole. 

Professor Snape fixed his two first years with another disappointed glare that made Harry's stomach twist in knots, before they were also ordered out of the kitchens. 

They went up a staircase to find the twins and Hermione waiting for them.

"Well, did you get in trouble?" Fred demanded, as they came within earshot. Harry was beginning to find subtle differences between the two faces, but he still wasn't sure if the twin with the slightly crooked tooth was actually Fred or not. 

"No."

"Of course not." George laughed. "The git always favors his Slytherins."

"Hey!" Draco defended. 

George put his hands up. "No hard feelings, Malfoy, but it's true. Especially when you're a Gryffindor."

"I guess."

"What are you two doing talking to them?" a different voice rang out from the end of the hallway, the word "them" dripping with contempt. 

"Oh, ickle Ronnikins!" Fred called out, in a gushing voice as he rolled his eyes. 

"What are you doing?" Ron repeated, as he drew nearer. His face was contorted into a scowl. "They're Slytherins."

"And you're a Gryffindor." Harry responded blankly.

"So?"

"Oh, sorry." Harry shrugged. "I thought we were pointing out things that were obvious, but you make a good point. So?"

"They're not good company to keep." Ron replied hotly, looking at the twins pointedly. "They're dark wizards, the whole lot of them."

"Draco, why didn't you tell me we knew dark magic?" Harry asked, feigning confusion. "Have you been holding out on me?"

"Here, let me try." Draco offered, pulling out his wand. 

Ron took a step back. "You sure seem a lot braver without Snape around. What, you're not going to have Potter fight your battles again?"

"Scared, Weasley?"

"Not for a second - just surprised. I didn't think you were capable of doing your own work."

"I can take you on any time." Draco ground out. "Wizards Duel - you and me, tonight at midnight, Astronomy Tower. Wands only."

"You're on, Malfoy." Ron looked at his brothers expectantly, but they both shook their heads with a grin. 

"No can do, Ronnikins."

"Fine." Ron scowled. "I choose Finnegan."

"Potter." Draco stated. 

Ron turned on his heel and walked away. Fred touched Harry's shoulder and softly whispered, "He's afraid of spiders." with a wink before walking away with George and Hermione, leaving Harry very confused. 

"What just happened?" Harry asked, as they treaded back towards the Slytherin Common Room. 

"We're going to have a Wizarding Duel."

Harry didn't say anything until they reached the blank stone wall and recited the password. The common room was a quiet bustle of activity, as students were gathered in groups to play games of chess and Exploding Snap. 

He didn't say anything until they had reached the door to their dormitory. 

"Why did you say my name?"

"You're my second." Draco explained, but sighed at Harry's confused expression. "You take over if the original dueler dies."

Harry's cheeks paled in alarm. 

"Which only happens in war." Blaise spoke up, who was lounging on his bed. He had a book on his lap. "Informal duels aren't supposed to be to the death - but you can still get hurt." He fixed Draco with a glare. "Now what's this about Harry being a second?"

Draco blushed slightly at Blaise's miffed expression, recalling a promise to always be each other’s second. "We challenged Weasley to a duel."

"You challenged Weasley to a duel." Harry muttered darkly. 

"Tonight." Draco continued.

"Absolutely not."

"What?"

"You heard me." Blaise shut his book. "Absolutely not. Snape might not take points away from Slytherin in class, but he's not going to look past one being out after curfew. Especially for a bloody duel. I swear to Merlin! We get separated for thirty minutes and you’ve already challenged someone to a duel!”

Draco remained indignant. "I'm not backing down from this."

"Don't be such a Gryffindor, you prat." Blaise sighed. "Use your head. You don't have to call it off."

"Then what do you - oh." Draco stopped, a grin gracing this thing lips. "I see."

"Can someone please explain what is going on?" Harry asked impatiently. 

"We're going to let them think we're meeting them in the Astronomy Tower, but we're not going to show up. Maybe tip someone off..."

Harry's eyes widened. "You're going to get them in trouble for being out."

"Precisely, my dear Harry."

Harry shook his head and turned to Blaise, who had a glint in his eyes. It made him uneasy, but it made him less uneasy than the prospect of the duel actually taking place. 

During dinner, Draco raised an eyebrow expectantly when he caught Ron's attention and smirked when Seamus nodded back furiously, laughing when the Gryffindor mimicked a throat-slashing motion. 

That night, the three Slytherins slept soundly in their beds. If they just happened to have slipped an unsigned note under Filch's door, well, what happened to the Gryffindors wasn't any of their concern. 


	7. The Potions Master.

It was that next morning that Harry received his second piece of owl mail – a slip of paper folded over and printed neatly with dark purple ink.  
  
“There’s something I need to tell you.”  
  
Harry stuffed the note into his pocket. He was wearing yesterday’s trousers again, paired with a faded shirt of his own. Draco had muttered conspiringly while he had gotten dressed, something about setting his wardrobe on fire.  
  
“It’s from Hermione.” he answered Blaise’s questioning glance.  
  
“The Gryffindor?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Across from him, Draco was rolling his eyes in disgust.  
  
“What?” Harry asked.  
  
Draco raised a thin eyebrow at him, saying nothing.  
  
“What’s your problem with Hermione?” Harry clarified. “And please don’t say it’s because she’s a Gryffindor, because she’s nothing like the rest of them. She could have been in Ravenclaw, you know? You said it yourself – there’s nothing wrong with Ravenclaw.”  
  
“Yet, she chose to prance in red and gold.”  
  
“Draco!”  
  
“Alright, alright.” Draco put his hands up. “She’s just irritating – always spouting off facts that no one cares about. Don’t look at me like that! I just can’t stand when people have a sense of superiority on them – like she’s better just because she knows more.”  
  
“Like you’re better just because you have more?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You heard me.” Harry muttered. “You get the same way, Draco.”  
  
Draco stayed silent.  
  
“Fine.” Harry shrugged, turning back to his breakfast. He finished quickly and left without a word. Draco watched as he met Hermione at the front of the Great Hall and the two left together.  
  
“You should probably apologize.” Blaise suggested.  
  
“A Malfoy doesn’t apologize.”  
  
Blaise shrugged. “He really means that little to you, then?"  
  
“No.”  
  
With a sigh, Draco stood up and went to search for Harry, Blaise following behind him. They found the two in an empty classroom, animatedly discussing Hermione’s note.  
  
“-they said it was a three-headed dog.” Hermione was saying.  
  
“A _hellhound_?” Draco asked.  
  
Harry looked up with a smile, the bitterness gone from his eyes. It was enough that Draco had gone looking for him. No one had ever gone looking for him. The fact that Draco was willing to come find him…it was enough of an apology.  
  
Draco smiled back awkwardly and went to stand beside his friend, relaxing when Harry slightly leaned into him. Whatever had happened between them was over.  
  
“A hell-hound.” Hermione confirmed.  
  
“What was a hell-hound doing in the third floor corridor?” Harry asked.  
  
“Seamus said it was standing on a trap-door, although Ron said he didn’t see one.” Hermione remembered. “I’m not surprised he didn’t though – he is rather daft.”  
  
Draco snickered.  
  
“My guess is, it was guarding something.”  
  
“Like whatever was in the package?” Harry asked excitedly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” Blaise muttered.  
  
“It’s proof though, isn’t it?” Harry argued. “What other reason would there be for that dog to be here? It has to be guarding something, and it has to be whatever Hagrid collected!”  
  
“Maybe.” Blaise answered, doubtfully.  
  
That was the end of the discussion. They had nothing more to go off and they weren’t about to risk stepping into a chamber shared by a hellhound. Besides, as the days turned into weeks, they had other things to occupy their thoughts with.  
  
Leaves were falling off the trees and flying past the classroom windows, bringing with them the blustery cool of Autumn, and soon enough it was late October. The leaves gathered in bunches, waiting for restless students to jump into them, screaming. Hagrid was tending to the huge pumpkins in his garden, and the students huddled down the damp hallways, some already sporting their house scarves and hats, their breath a frail white mist in the cold.  
  
Harry has trudging along after his friends, half-heartedly listening as Draco and Blaise discussed the upcoming Quidditch season. The first game of the year was coming up in less than a fortnight, and Harry was well aware of it.  
  
Tryouts had been held in mid-September and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, had found himself impressed by Harry’s flying skills, which sealed his place on the team.  
  
“You’re going to need a new broom.” Flint told Harry, as he dismounted the school broom. “Can’t expect you to win on a Cleansweep.”  
  
“You mean?”  
  
“You’re on the team.” Flint nodded. “Lucian Bole was the best seeker Slytherin’s had during my school years, but I haven’t seen someone catch the Snitch as easily as you did since Charlie Weasley played for Gryffindor in my fourth year – could beat out even Lucian that one.”  
  
There were very few times a Slytherin spoke well of a Gryffindor, and this was one of those moments. Terence Higgs and Cassius Warrington nodded in agreement.  
  
“My first year on the Quidditch team, I was Seeker.” Terrence recalled, grinning. “I was an overly-excited third-year and Weasley was in sixth – he had already been on the team for four years – oh, was it bad.”  
  
“I thought Professor Snape was going to gut us.” Flint cringed. “Never in my years of teaching has Slytherin been so utterly obliterated, so incredibly shameful.” he quoted their Head of House’s rant, copying the glare the professor always wore. “The time and effort I put into this team to give you what you all have – you think Professor McGonagall cares if someone has to use a school broom? Professor Flitwick? Professor Sprout? I gave the best – the most – I could. I made sure you had the pitch when you needed it. I excused you from assignments when practices ran too long – all I asked was you show me it was worth it. Clearly. It. Was. Not.”  
  
“If only you could remember to do your homework the way you remember that speech.” Professor Snape’s cold voice came from behind them. He and Draco had been watching the tryouts from the stands.  
  
“Oh, Professor!” Marcus Flint greeted him.  
  
“Mr. Flint.” Snape nodded, looking around him. The team members and a handful of Slytherins who wanted to try out for Beater were gathered around Flint. Those who hadn’t made the team or had just come to watch, were sitting on the lowered stands. “What’s this I hear about needing a new broom?”  
  
“Potter, sir.” Flint nodded. “He doesn’t have one.”  
  
“Indeed.” Snape turned to look at Harry. “Come along, Mr. Potter and we’ll see what can be done about that.” He turned to look at the rest. “Resume your tryouts then.”  
  
“Professor Snape?” Harry asked, as they returned to the stands where Draco was waiting. He waved excitedly to him. “Did you really excuse the team from homework?”  
  
Snape sighed. “It was a…mistake on my part.”  
  
“Why did you?” Harry pressed, still in disbelief that the man towering in front of him would ever excuse someone from a homework assignment. Especially for something like Quidditch practice.  
  
Snape didn’t say anything until they were seated beside Draco. Draco offered Harry a note of congratulations, a gloating sneer on his face. He had been the one to help Harry hone his flying skills, after all.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“It’s not something that will ever happen again, so it isn’t something you need to concern yourself with, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“Oh, come on.” Harry pleaded.  
  
“Begging isn’t becoming.” Snape scolded, then sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the legendary Charlie Weasley by now?”  
  
“Yeah, the Seeker from Gryffindor.”  
  
“Mr. Weasley was on the team from his second year to his sixth year, which meant that for those years, Gryffindor had the Quidditch Cup secured. It became rather frustrating and I let the competition get the better of me. I made mistakes that didn’t pay off and I won’t be making them again. I excused students from homework once, now I’ll just as easily excuse them from Quidditch.”  
  
Harry nodded, remembering Hagrid’s warnings.  
  
“You keep your grades high, you keep your Quidditch position.” Snape clarified.  
  
It was Flint’s second year as a captain. Last year, he took all the credit for Slytherin winning the cup for the first time in four years – never mind the fact that Charlie Weasley didn’t play Quidditch that year, but it was enough for Professor Snape to sign off on their practice timetable.  
  
They practiced early in the morning and late at night, to ensure their three new members were caught up with the rest of the team – and to ensure the other houses didn’t learn of their secret weapon. Two weeks after tryouts, Harry was called into Professor Snape’s office and was presented with his new broom – a Nimbus 2000.  
  
“You got a Nimbus?” Draco had asked enviously, as Harry stored it underneath his bed. Professor Snape had it mailed to his personal quarters, as to not disrupt breakfast. Flint wanted to keep the new broom – and the new seeker – a secret until the first game against Gryffindor.  
  
“This will show Wood.” Flint grinned, watching Harry fly around the pitch in less time than he had on the Cleansweeper.  
  
It was because of Flint’s desire to keep their advantage a secret that Harry was forced to wake up early and go to bed late, making his sleeping schedule inconsistent. The hours he could sleep were restless, as strange dreams disturbed his sleep. He could never fully remember them in the morning, but could always feel the exhaustion deep in his bones.  
  
Harry wasn’t the only one lacking on sleep.  
  
It was during the middle of the night that Draco Malfoy would lay awake, listening to the soft whimpering of his friend beside him. Some nights, he would climb out of bed and shake Harry softly, waking him from his dreams.  
  
“Father was rather surprised you made the team.” Draco would whisper, casually recounting the last letter he received from his parents in attempt to fill the silence. “He says you must be very good for Professor Snape to let a first year play.”  
  
Harry would mumble in response, still turning restlessly. He would never remember the conversations in the morning, but Draco seemed to feel closer to the raven-haired boy with each nightmare that happened.  
  
“Miles Bletchley is a seventh year.” Draco would murmur, invoking the name of the Slytherin Keeper. “Perhaps I’ll try out for his spot next year, when he’s gone. I’d rather be a Chaser you know, but mostly I just want to play Quidditch. It makes me happy.”  
  
Draco would sit on the edge of his bed, rubbing his thumb across the top of Harry’s hand and kept talking until the other boy had fallen asleep again. Other nights, Blaise would wake the boy from his nightmares, but Draco liked these moments they shared. When the other stopped mumbling in response, fast asleep again, Draco would return to his own bed.  
  
“Good night, Harry.”    
  
As classes wore on, Harry started to feel the weight of the world crushing down on him. He brushed it off as being too tired from last night’s Quidditch practice, but he couldn’t ignore the ache he felt in his chest.  
  
They were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Quirrell was stuttering his way through the lesson. It was difficult to understand him and Harry’s patience was beginning to thin. He just wanted to sleep.  
  
“M-Mr. P-Potter.” Professor Quirrell called out, causing Harry to look up with contempt storming in his green eyes. He felt a sear of pain flash across his forehead and he grimaced. He had long ruled out Professor Snape as the cause of his headaches and had begun to loathe Defense classes for making his scar hurt. He just didn’t understand why.  
  
“Y-yes, s-sir?” Harry mimicked, feeling guilt wash down his spine as the rest of the students laughed. “I’m sorry.” he shook his head, apologizing weakly. “Yes, sir?”  
  
Professor Quirrell was staring at him with a shrewd and calculating expression, but it was gone so quickly, Harry couldn’t be sure it was there in the first place.  
  
“If y-you could tell the class the di-difference be-between a jinx, a hex, a-and a c-curse?”  
  
Harry blinked.  
  
He racked his brain, coming up with the different definitions, but he couldn’t remember which belonged to what. He knew he could remember, if he tried, but he just couldn’t be bothered right now. The room was too crowded, too bright, too warm, too loud and yet, too quiet.  
  
Half the class was staring at him, a handful of the Ravenclaws laughing under their breath at his dumbfounded expression. He schooled his face to reveal nothing, in much the same way Professor Snape did, and answered with a listless tone that caused Draco’s eyebrows to furrow in concern.  
  
Harry had been careful to only give the definition, to not pair it with a name, and because of that, he technically couldn’t be wrong – only vague. It was something he had learned from Theo, who didn’t like people thinking he didn’t know the answer.  
  
“Y-yes, yes, good.” Professor Quirrell complimented, returning to the front of the classroom. “Two points to S-Slytherin, I should s-say.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.” Harry answered dully.   
  
After class, Harry walked quietly with Draco and Blaise. The two were discussing the homework for Potions tomorrow. Draco mentioned he needed to talk to Professor Snape about their essay topic and left for his office.  
  
“How are you doing?” Blaise asked, as the two returned to the common room. Thursday’s Defense was their shortest class and they had the rest of the day free.  
  
“’m tired.” Harry shrugged.  
  
“Do you have practice today?”  
  
“Not until Saturday.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The conversation died after that. They ran into Hermione at the bottom of the stairs, who was coming in from Herbology.  
  
“Oh, hi, Harry!” she called out. “Zabini!"  
  
“Hey, ‘Mione.”  
  
“Are you doing okay, Harry?” she asked, scrutinizing the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed to drag his feet as they walked.  
  
“I’m just tired.”  
  
“Quidditch practice.” Blaise clarified.  
  
“Have you been sleeping enough? I heard Oliver Wood complaining to the twins about how he can’t schedule enough practices in because the Slytherins always have it day and night, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have the afternoons.”  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“You know, there are things more important than Quidditch.” Hermione began. “Sleep, of course, but schoolwork, too. I’ve got loads to do, and I don’t have Quidditch practice to worry about on top of it. I don’t think I’d be able to pull it off – ”   
  
“Hermione.” Harry interrupted, tiredly. “No offense, but could you please stop. I’m managing it, alright? Quidditch isn’t a chore for me – it’s fun. It’s the most fun I’m having. You just feel so alive when you’re on a broomstick, compared to, well, compared to not.”  
  
Blaise was looking at him thoughtfully.  
  
“It’s alright, Harry.” Hermione smiled sadly. “It’s almost that time, isn’t it?”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise, but shrugged it off. “Your parents, Harry.”  
  
Whatever she was going to say, that wasn’t what he was expecting. His throat tightened and his heart seemed to thump louder. He tried not to think about them, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t hurt over them still. It’s not like he ever got to know them, why was he missing someone he never knew? Why did he have to be the one to suffer the loss of their mistakes? They put their lives on the line, they went after him, and as a result, _he_ was the one left behind.  
  
“What about them?”  
  
Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Blaise had pushed her aside and placed himself between them. “We have somewhere to be.”  
  
“What?” Harry looked at him. “Hermione, what about them?”  
  
She didn’t reply, as Blaise shook his head with a glare. Instead she quickly waved goodbye as Blaise ushered Harry towards the dungeons. He wasn’t about to be told by her, not like this. Not by someone who read it from a stupid textbook.  
  
Down in the dungeons, Professor Snape was sitting at his desk, bent over a stack of essays when he was disturbed by a knock on the door.  
  
“Enter.” he called out, as he put his quill on the stand residing on the edge of the desk. He capped the bottle of red ink and stowed the seventh year essays out of sight.  
  
Draco stepped through, a sad smile gracing his lips. “Severus.” he greeted his godfather, eyes pleading.   
  
“Draco.” he returned, picking up his tea cup. He took a small sip before placing it back down on the saucer, a spelled little thing that kept the tea warm. He was constantly immersed in his work and reading, which often resulted in cold tea. He found having to continuously spell it warm rather irritating, and had said so to a prefect four years ago, who had presented him with the saucer one Christmas.  
  
It was a fairly useful gift, and it was the one of the reasons he had kept it – and it certainly helped that the prefect had been his favorite student in some years.  
  
Draco perched himself on the edge of the chair near the door.  
  
“What is it, Draco?” the professor asked, somewhat dryly. “I haven’t all day, you know."  
  
“It’s Harry.”  
  
Snape looked up. “What about Mr. Potter?”  
  
“He’s not sleeping.” Draco blurted out. “He keeps having nightmares and Quidditch practices keep running late or starting really early and he just seems so tired all the time and –”  
  
“Breathe.” Severus interrupted him. “Mr. Potter made the choice to join the Quidditch team. If he feels he cannot handle it, he is free to drop it. No one is making him.”  
  
“But – ”  
  
“I will tell Mr. Flint to cut down on practices.” Snape compromised. “I am getting quite tired of the letters of complaint from Oliver Wood.”  
  
Draco smiled.  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
“Does he know?” Draco asked, his eyes suddenly hard.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“About his parents.” Draco pressed. “He didn’t even know how they died until midsummer. Does he know when they died?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“He seems so sad these days.” Draco mumbled. “The nightmares - I've heard him talk about them in his sleep. He has to know, doesn’t he? How can he not know when his own parents died?”  
  
“Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you drop it.” Professor Snape warned, as he felt the twinge of emotion tug at his own chest. That day never got easier. “It’s none of your concern.”  
  
“He’s my friend!”  
  
“Even so.”  
  
They were interrupted by another knock at the door. Professor Snape gave Draco a look of finality before addressing the newcomers.  
  
“Enter.”  
  
“Hi, Professor.” Blaise greeted, as he entered the room with Harry, who switched from glaring at Blaise to greeting his head of house.  
  
“What’s all this?”  
  
“Hermione knows something about my parents that I don't, and then Blaise dragged me here instead, so someone please explain what’s going on.”  
  
“Yes, please explain.” Draco urged, earning himself a glare from his godfather.  
  
“Both of you can leave.” Snape decided tersely. “Mr. Potter, you can sit.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
When the two had left and the door was shut behind them, Severus sat back down at his desk and looked at Harry with a softer expression. He was about to say something, but stopped as he caught sight of the sleepless nights written on his face.  
  
“Are you sleeping enough, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“Some.” Harry shrugged. He had been asked this question enough times for one day, but for some reason it didn't bother him when Professor Snape asked him. In fact, he was rather okay with it. “Quidditch practice runs late some nights, but it’s not a problem. I’m really happy to be on the team. Adrian is really funny and he and Cassius aren't afraid to tell Flint off if he thinks he’s making me do too much.”  
  
“Do you think he’s making you do too much?"  
  
“Sometimes he sets the Bludgers after me – says it’s good practice, to learn my way around them. Cassius only stops him if they’ve already hit me.”  
  
Snape’s eyes widened in alarm.  
  
“I’m fine.” Harry shrugged again. “Just a couple bruises, really. Gemma will heal the worst ones after practice, if she’s still in the common room. I think she’s been waiting up the past few nights though.”  
  
“Ms. Farley has always had an affinity for Healing Charms."  
  
“I really like her.”  
  
“Indeed.” Snape nodded.  
  
“Sir.” Harry mumbled, as he had this awful habit of staring at his lap when speaking. “Why are they all acting strange? I’m just tired.”  
  
“Harry.” Snape began, but stopped when his charge looked up suddenly. He realized it was the first time he called him by name, something he rarely did with his students. “Mr. Potter.” he clarified, forcing himself to stare into his best friend’s eyes. Lily’s eyes.

No, he shook it off.  
  
Lily was dead. He would never look into them again. Harry’s eyes. Potter’s eyes. His student’s eyes.  
  
“Do you know how your parents died?” Snape asked gently.   
  
“Lord Vol – You-Know-Who killed them."  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why?” Harry asked.  
  
“Mr. Potter, that’s not something I can –”  
  
“Why did they do it? If they had just left him alone! I could have parents.  I don’t know what they look like, what they sound like, what they feel like…” Harry trailed off, his voice as quiet as it had ever been, and Severus had to strain to hear the last bit.  
  
His whisper melted into the quiet of the room, which seemed to grow heavier as the minutes ticked by. Severus stood suddenly. "Come with me, Mr. Potter."   
  
“What?”  
  
“Come with me.”  
  
He ushered the famed Boy Who Lived out and down a staircase, thinking. All anyone saw was famous Harry Potter, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord, but right now, he was nothing more than a small child, just another one of his snakes who needed him.  
  
They walked past the common room, and found themselves standing in front of a large tapestry of the Slytherin Coat of Arms that graced the far end of the hallway. Severus took out his wand and tapped the fabric with a muttered “Damocles” and the solid wall became a hallway.  
  
It stopped at another dead end, and Harry stood back as Professor Snape put his hand against the stone wall. It shimmered briefly before turning into a door, and Snape stepped through, leaving it open for Harry.  
  
“Sir?” Harry asked, stepping through.  
  
“These are my personal quarters.” Snape explained, turning on a light and walking into the open kitchenette. “I don’t normally allow students in here, but I do make the exception now and again.” He started filling a kettle with water. “Sit.”  
  
Harry took a moment to look around. He had expected something stiff, neat, and cold – something like the Professor himself. Instead, the warm and rather cozy room was colored with the dying embers of the fireplace and there was a blanket thrown on the couch. There were books stacked on the low table and sheets of scribbled parchment strewn over one end of the kitchen table.  
  
He took a seat at the kitchen table, as Professor Snape set down a tea tray and fetched the steaming kettle.  
  
“I’ve only got tea bags.” he was saying, placing down a tin of assorted teas. He watched as Harry chose a mint tea and swirled sugar into his cup.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
He didn’t say anything else, still wondering why he was brought here. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch, covered by the beige blanket. It was much warmer here than the common room, and the smaller room was much more comforting.  
  
Professor Snape had gone through a door, and Harry could make out the silhouette of a large bed from his place at the table. When he returned, his expression gave nothing away as he held a slip of worn paper in his hands. He studied Harry for a minute before placing it in front of him.  
  
It was a photograph, and like all photos in the Wizarding World, it came alive before him. It was a pair of students, who looked as if they could be in their fifth year. The boy was scowling at the camera, his pale face and dark hair familiar.  
  
“Is that you?” Harry asked softly, tracing a finger down the green lining of Professor Snape’s robes. He was standing beside a Gryffindor with red hair and freckles, who was laughing as she placed an arm around the younger Snape, urging him to smile.  
  
She turned to face the camera and Harry found himself staring into his own eyes.  
  
“I-is that?” he breathed, looking up from the photograph. The real Professor Snape was studying him carefully, his lips pressed firmly together. “Is that my mother?”  
  
“Lily.” Snape confirmed in little more than a whisper. “That was taken our fifth year.”  
  
“You were friends with her?”  
  
“I was.”  
  
Harry stared back at the photograph, his mind racing. He tried to imagine the scene before the photograph; after it. He tried to imagine his Head of House friends with the bouncing red-head - his mother. Someone he never knew. Someone he would never get to know. _He_  knew her, though. Snape knew the sound of her voice and the warmth of her skin. He knew her favorite color and the way she sounded when she laughed. _He just knew_.  
  
“What was she like?” Harry asked carefully, as a different jumble of thoughts hit. He cared about her, he lost her. He felt the pain and grief of her death in a way Harry never would.  
  
“Another day, perhaps.” came the stiff answer. It disappointed Harry, but somehow, he knew not to push it.  
  
“Okay."  
  
“Do you know when your parents died, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“No.” Harry paused. It was something he wondered about time and again, but it wasn't something he dared ask. He learned not to ask questions at home, especially when it was about his parents. Aunt Petunia hated her sister, hated Harry as a result.   
  
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Professor Snape pondered. “You’ve only recently learned how they died, am I correct?”  
  
“Over the summer, yeah.”  
  
"It was 31, October.."  Snape murmured briskly. "The Dark Lord came into their home himself. He rarely ever did things himself – he preferred to send his followers."  
  
“Halloween?” Harry asked, sadly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
There was silence as Harry thought back to the last ten years, where he spent Halloween locked in his cupboard while Dudley went out and collected candy. The days leading up to the holiday always left him feeling rather sad, and he always brushed it off as not being able to participate in the holiday. Perhaps all this time, a part of him just _knew_.  
  
Feeling determined, he straightened up. Halloween was a week away, and this year, he would do something for them. He vaguely remembered catching a part of a film Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were watching, where someone had lit a candle underneath a photograph of someone they had lost. He remembered asking Aunt Petunia about that scene, only to be shoved back into his cupboard with a hissed, "You only honor those who matter."   
  
Harry's parents mattered to him. He had this photo of his mother, all he needed was one of his father. He looked back down at the younger Lily; he had never imagined her to have red hair and freckles, something he didn't have. His dad should have brown hair and brown skin then. Maybe he wore glasses.  
  
"Were you friends with my dad, too?" Harry asked hopefully. "Do you have any photos of him?”  
  
He didn’t miss the grimace that flashed across the professor’s face. “I do not.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I’m sure we can find one.” Snape forced out, even though a part of him wished to not.  
  
“Can I keep this one?” Harry asked, picking up the old photograph once more.  
  
“You may borrow it.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Harry continued to stare sadly at the photographed memory of his mother while Professor Snape continued to turn his earlier words in his mind. _If they had just left him alone. I could have parents_. He was just another child who had suffered the casualties of war.  
  
“No one has told you why they died, Harry?”  
  
Again, he looked up at the mention of his first name.  
  
“No, sir."  
  
Of course not. He could be told the how, the when, but no one was ever going to tell him about the why. Not with the blasted prophecy hanging over all of them.  
  
“They died,” he paused, thinking. “They died because they fought for what they believed in. They weren’t afraid to stand up for themselves and they fought until the very end.”    
  
“Just like Gryffindors.” Harry muttered darkly, but his eyes were light.   
  
“Yes.” Snape smirked. “Just like Gryffindors.”


	8. Lucius Malfoy.

“I’ll take white tea, Severus, with a –”  
  
“With a wisp of lemon.” Severus interrupted, sardonically. He strained the tea, cutting in a thin slice of lemon peel. “I don’t forget, Lucius.”  
  
His guest nodded, grinning as he accepted the steaming porcelain cup.  
  
“You were always pretentious in your taste.” Severus teased, as he sat down opposite of the elder Malfoy, a mug of Earl Gray in his own hands.  
  
“I wouldn’t call it pretentious.” Lucius countered, taking a small sip. “Simply particular.”  
  
Severus snorted.  
  
“Oh, enough about that.” Lucius waved the topic away. “Tell me, how is Draco faring? His letters always bring a smile to Narcissa’s face, you know.”  
  
“He’s doing well. His grades are among the top of Slytherin House; so I’m sure you can make Head Boy out of him.”  
  
“He hasn’t been hanging around those lumps Crabbe and Goyle call children, has he?” Lucius pressed, his posture unusually relaxed. He always sat rather formally, but there were certain people he felt comfortable dropping his front with.  
  
“Fortunately, he hasn’t.” Severus indulged him. He could be rather overbearing as a parent, but he always meant well. “He’s grown quite attached to Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter.”  
  
“Harry Potter, yes.” Lucius murmured. “I don’t think we’ve received a single letter over the past two months that didn’t mention the boy. He seems rather infatuated with him.”  
  
“I don’t think I’ve seen them apart. They’ve formed a very respectable friendship, Lucius, and Draco seems very happy.”  
  
“The Boy Who Lived.” Lucius shook his head.  
  
“Please don’t try to bring politics into your son’s friendships, Lucius.” Severus reprimanded casually. “They’re only children.”  
  
“Oh, Severus.” his friend laughed. “I am quite approving of Draco’s friendships. The Zabini’s were neutral during the war, you know? Politics are simply part of life; I need to ensure Draco is making the proper connections to help his future.”  
  
“It surely helps that the famed Harry Potter is among them.” Severus commented dryly. “I’m sure that will definitely help the Malfoy’s rebuild their reputation.”  
  
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, waiting for Lucius to continue.  
  
“He was supposed to win.”  
  
“Did you really want him to?” Severus asked quietly, sensibly.  
  
“I did once.” Lucius stared blankly at the fireplace. “The Dark Lord truly had a way with words. He knew what notes to play. His ideals aligned with mine and I joined his ranks, I took his mark, I gave everything I had to him. For what? He became obsessed, borderline psychotic. I thought he had the right ideas, but as the war raged on, he became something truly evil and I had to stop and think.” Lucius turned to look at Severus. “Was this really what I believed in?”  
  
Lucius’ eyes burned with his answer.  
  
“He was killed by a baby, Severus.” he murmured, turning back to the fireplace. “And now, everything I threw away, every mistake I made, has to be repaid by my son. He shouldn’t have to be the one to restore the Malfoy reputation, but he’s the only one with a clean slate. The Ministry might believe my claim of the Imperious Curse, but the whispers still follow our family around. I made a mistake, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”  
  
“I came to you.” Severus whispered.  
  
“Betray the most powerful Dark wizard in decades?” Lucius asked, astonished. “Severus, you only had to look out for yourself. I had a family and I had to look out for them. After Draco was born, everything I did was for them. I had to keep them alive.”  
  
“And you did.”  
  
“I cannot explain the relief I felt when I heard the Dark Lord had been defeated.” Lucius continued, his voice distant. “Still, there were countless nights where I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest. Where was the body, Severus? Was he truly gone?”  
  
“The Headmaster doesn’t think so.”  
  
“Albus Dumbledore is going senile.” Lucius sneered, but the fear was evident in his gray eyes. “He’s a doddering old fool. Tell me, what do you think?”  
  
“What would you do, if you found he was still alive?”  
  
“Keep my family safe.” Lucius answered simply. “Which has been my task since day one.”  
  
“No matter what it takes?”  
  
“No matter.”  
  
“He never doubted me, you know.” Severus began, his voice a strange sort of vulnerable that made Lucius straighten up. “He thought I was loyal. He thought my idea to take a position in Hogwarts in order to spy on Dumbledore was brilliant.”  
  
“How did he know to trust you?”  
  
“There might have been a Cruciatus curse or two involved.”  
  
Lucius winced, involuntarily.  
  
“The only people who knew the truth were Dumbledore and eventually, you.”  
  
“I couldn’t believe it when you confided in me.” Lucius admitted. “I was having doubts about the Dark Lord and then, all of a sudden, you were trying to convince me to turn traitor. I was terrified; I thought you had been given a new task: to weed out those who weren’t loyal to him.”  
  
“Your mind was becoming weak near the end of the war.” Severus said softly. “I could read your thoughts so easily, it was a wonder you weren’t dead.”  
  
“I thought the same of you, when you started teaching.”  
  
They were silent for a few moments, as they drank their tea. Each of them were lost in their own memories, flashes of nightmares that would never let them go.  
  
“Would you really return to him?”  
  
“Would you?” Lucius countered, swirling the last bit of tea that remained in his cup.  
  
“I know who my loyalties stand with.” Severus spoke firmly. “I don’t ever want to stand beside him again.”  
  
“Do you really think the Dark Lord would let you live, if he learned you had turned traitor, Severus?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then it’s settled.” Lucius smiled grimly. “If the Dark Lord were to rise again, we will have to don our robes once more.”  
  
“One can only hope we won’t.”  
  
“You know how I feel about hope, my good friend.” Lucius raised an eyebrow.  
  
“It destroys you from the inside out.”  
  
“Right you are.” Lucius chuckled, pulling out his wand and spelling a decanter of whiskey to float his way. “How about we have something richer to wash this conversation away? We have other things to talk about, after all.”  
  
Severus accepted the tumbler, but didn't drink. Once Lucius had returned the bottle back to its place on the mantle, he pulled out a shrunken envelope out of his robes. He returned it to size with a quick “ _Engorgio.”_ and handed it over to Snape.  
  
“Where did you find these?” Severus asked, leafing through the thin pile of photographs as he tried not to study them too carefully.  
  
He had to stop at the last one, holding his breath for just a moment. It was a muggle photo, its two characters still. James Potter was standing in his best dress robe, pressing a kiss to Lily Potter’s forehead, her white gown radiating against her red hair, her smile just as he remembered it.  
  
“Oh, don’t give me the credit.” Lucius laughed. “You know how Narcissa gets when she works herself up. She couldn’t believe Harry didn’t know what his parents looked like, and she set herself the task of finding some.”  
  
“Where?” Severus repeated.  
  
“Her Aunt’s house, I believe.” Lucius shrugged, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “I remember her being quite horrid, when she was alive – Walburga Black, it was.”  
  
“Black?”  
  
“It _is_ Narcissa’s surname.” Lucius said casually, attempting to defuse the anger growing in Severus’ dark eyes. “But yes, they were cousins.” He admitted what Snape already knew. “And yes, they belonged to him.”    
  
Severus dropped the photographs on the table, as if they were disease-ridden.  
  
“That’s enough.” Lucius scolded. “This isn’t about you, it’s about the boy. You were the one who asked for photos of his parents, and you got them. Forget they ever belonged to Sirius Black, because as of now, they belong to Harry Potter.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“You are a child sometimes, Severus.”  
  
“At least I’m not a pretentious bastard.”  
  
Lucius took a sip of the aged spirit, letting the expensive taste run across his tongue before answering. “Touché.”  
  
\--  
  
If there was one thing Draco wouldn’t have predicted, it was how much he loved spending time with Harry Potter. They did everything together, which was only natural since they were in the same year and in the same house. They went to class together, went to lunch together, studied together, and went on walks along the Black Lake together.  
  
Harry was particularly good at finding flat stones and skipping them, while Draco was particularly good at throwing rocks and complaining when all it did was splash and sink to the sandy floor.   
  
“You’ve got to flick your wrist, like this.” Harry laughed, showing Draco how to cast the stone for the fourth time. “See?”  
  
“I don’t understand how this can be useful.” Draco retorted, miffed.  
  
“It’s just fun.”  
  
“You are literally throwing rocks into the water, Harry.” Draco sneered. “I don’t think you can get any more primitive.”  
  
“Fine, let’s just continue our walk.”  
  
Draco had also taken to attending Quidditch practices, sitting on the stands underneath a warming charm and cheering his friend on. When Blaise had decided he had better things to do than watch Harry catch and release the snitch for three hours, Draco started to bring Pansy along.  
  
“Do you think we’ll get to do anything fun for Halloween?” Pansy asked, just days before the holiday arrived.  
  
“Father says there’s a big feast.” Draco replied importantly.  
  
Marcus Flint had doubled the amount of practices in the week leading up to the first Quidditch game, and Draco was intent on going to them all – unless the weather was bad, of course. Harry jut wasn’t worth the wind and rain.  
  
Pansy, who surprisingly was a big Quidditch fan, didn’t mind keeping Draco company. She came to the practices with her robe wrapped tightly around her, her green and silver scarf up to her chin.  
  
“You need to work on your warming charms.” she complained, as the warm air surrounding them started to falter.  
  
“At least I can cast one."  
  
“It’s a second year charm.” Pansy muttered. “I’m not obligated to know it. If you’re going to show off and do it, then at least do it right."  
  
They were saved from further argument when practice was called to an end.  
  
“That’s enough for today!” Flint called out, dismounting his broom. “Meet back here Wednesday night, around seven. Bletchley – be here at six instead! You need to work on cutting down the time it takes you to reach the other end of the goal, then you can leave for your detention.”  
  
“Aye, captain!”  
  
“I swear to Merlin, if any of you end up with detention on the day of the match, you can kiss your spot on the team goodbye because you will be dead to me.” Flint warned, as they put the balls away.  
  
Terrence laughed and put an arm around Flint’s shoulders, leading him off the field. There was still an hour left before dinner – they had had an early practice for once.  
  
“Don’t you guys get tired of sitting there?” Harry asked, as Draco and Pansy reached the bottom of the stands.  
  
“No.”  
  
“As I was saying.” Pansy spoke up. “My parents are getting tickets to watch the Falmouth Falcons play over Christmas break.”  
  
“Who are they playing against?” Draco asked, half-interested as he fell into step with Harry.  
  
“Puddlemere United.”  
  
That seemed to mean something to him, as he stopped in his tracks. “Puddlemere?” he asked, excitedly.  
  
“I’m sure it’ll make for an interesting game.” Pansy commented, offhandedly. “Of course, there’s no way Puddlemere wins League this year."  
  
“What are you talking about?” Draco argued. “They’ve made it to the World Quidditch Cup three times this century. How many times have the Falcons made it their entire career? Besides, they won League last year!”  
  
“They lost the Seeker who brought them there.”  
  
“Whatever.” Draco shook his head, and Pansy’s smirk grew. “What about you, Harry? What’s your team?”  
  
“Team?”  
  
“You know, your professional Quidditch team.” Pansy explained, condescendingly. “There’s more to the sport than house teams, you know.”  
  
“Oh, um.” Harry stammered. Truth be told, he never gave the idea much thought. It made sense that were would be actual teams, competing for an actual cup.  
  
“Give him a break, he’s new to this.” Draco shoved Pansy playfully and accidentally tripped her. “Oh, sorry.”  
  
“Draco!”  
  
He helped her up, and she stared in disgust at the dirt on her hands and robe. “Now I have to wash up for dinner.” she huffed.  
  
They were left behind as she stalked off.  
  
“Don’t worry about her.” Draco laughed. “And don’t worry about your Quidditch team – we’ll find you one later.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
They were halfway down the staircase to the dungeons, when Draco put his hand up and stopped Harry from continuing, putting a finger to his lips.  
  
“What?” Harry mouthed.  
  
“You should come by the Manor for dinner this weekend, Severus.” An unfamiliar voice sounded from down the hallway. “Thank Narcissa personally.”  
  
“I’ll send an owl.” Professor Snape’s voice promised.  
  
Draco’s face broke into a smile and he hurried down the last few steps, with Harry following hesitantly behind him. He stopped in front of Professor Snape and the man who had spoken first, who was wearing an expensive robe and leaning on a slender walking stick.  
  
“Father!” Draco greeted excitedly, his arms partially raised. He dropped them awkwardly and took a step back, as if he had been planning on hugging the man, but had decided otherwise at the last moment. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Draco.” Mr. Malfoy greeted, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I had a few things I needed to discuss with Severus.”  
  
“Did Mother come?”  
  
“No, it’s just me. I’m sure you’ll get a letter from her soon, though.” He paused, appraising Harry carefully. “Draco, where are your manners?”  
  
“Oh, sorry.” Draco smiled sheepishly, turning towards Harry. “Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy.” He turned back to his father. “Father, this is my friend, Harry Potter.”  
  
“So you’re the infamous Harry Potter.”  
  
“Hello, sir.”  
  
Lucius was still studying him, and it was making Harry nervous. He tried not to fidget as Lucius’ eyes swept over Harry’s, pausing as he saw the lightning bolt scar. “I’ve heard much about you, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry kept silent.  
  
“All good things.” Lucius assured him with a laugh, but the laugh seemed false. Everything about Lucius was both mechanical and prestigious, as if he were putting on a show. He was charming and elegant and proper, but it didn’t feel _human_.  
  
Harry smiled, but he wanted nothing more than to leave. He had always hated small talk – in fact, he hated all conversation with strangers. He clutched the fabric of his school robe in shaking hands, incredibly thankful it was a Monday. He couldn’t help but compare the poor condition of his t-shirts to Mr. Malfoy’s well-tailored jacket.  
  
Even then, his robe was crumpled and dirty from Quidditch practice, and –  
  
“I have things I need to attend to.” Professor Snape’s voice broke the tense silence. “Mr. Potter, I’m in need of your assistance.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Harry wiped his sweating hands. “Um, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
“The pleasure was all mine.” Lucius turned to Draco, tentatively rubbing his thumb on the handle of his cane. Harry noticed it was a silver serpent’s head, its eyes set with emeralds. “Draco, walk with me to the gate. Your mother had a message for you.”  
  
“Yes, father.” Draco nodded. “I’ll see you back in the common room, Harry.”   
  
“Good day, Lucius.” Severus inclined his head.   
  
“I’ll hope to see you Saturday.”  
  
Harry watched as the two left. Their gait was identical, their posture impeccable. There was no doubt they were father and son, from their eloquent manner to their pale skin and white-blond hair. Except Draco’s was short where Lucius’ was long and cascading.  
  
“Are you really going to the Malfoy’s for dinner on Saturday?” Harry asked, as he followed Severus past the Potions classroom and down another staircase.  
  
“Unless I’m mistaken, the first Quidditch game of the season is on Saturday, and I’ve already got plans to watch my Slytherins win.”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“Do you think you’re ready for it?” Severus asked, conversationally, as he kept an eye on Harry’s shaking hands. He often found himself in this situation with other students, and had found the best way to relieve their anxiety was through distraction.  
  
“I think so. Flint has been making us work really hard at practice, but he’s stopped keeping us so late. He said we can’t play our best if we don’t get enough sleep.”  
  
“I’m in agreement."  
  
“Adrian Pucey was really glad when Flint decided to stop morning practices.” Harry laughed. “I think everybody was, but Adrian actually cheered.”    
  
“I see.”  
  
“What did you need help with?” Harry asked, as they stopped in front of the tapestry that hid Professor Snape’s personal chambers.  
  
“Nothing actually.” Snape led them down the secret hallway and put his hand against the stone wall. “I just wanted to show you something.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Harry went to sit at the kitchen table, while Snape busied himself making tea. There was a thick book beside him, and curiosity got the better of him. It had an old leather cover, the title mostly faded away.  
  
_“Moste Potente Potions_.” he read aloud, gingerly opening it. The pages were crumbling and water-marked, but the print was legible – and long. He flipped through a few pages, wary of the book’s condition, and stopped when he came across a diagram of a hand holding a candle between its fingers. _“La Pols de Foscor Instantania Peruana_.” he sounded the title out, looking up at Professor Snape for explanation.  
  
“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.” Snape translated, putting a mug in front of him.  
  
Harry took a sip, smiling a little when he realized it was a cup of mint tea, just as he had had last time. It even had the right amount of sugar. “Thank you.”  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
Harry returned to the book, but couldn't make sense of it. "What is it, exactly?"  
  
"Just as the title states, Mr. Potter." Professor Snape sat across from him. "A powdered potion that when thrown into the air, will cast the surrounding area in total darkness. It's particularly useful when escape is impossible."  
  
“I hope I'll never have use for that.” Harry muttered. “What language is this?"  
  
“Catalan.”  
  
Harry took another sip of tea instead of responding.  
  
“It’s more of a hybrid language than anything.” Snape explained. “It was created in the corner where Spain and France meet, a little place called Catalonia. It’s primarily Wizard.”  
  
“That’s cool.” Harry reached for a lemon biscuit, from the tin Snape had set on the table. “How did you learn it?”  
  
“That’s where I earned my Masters in Potions.”  
  
“You have a Masters?”  
  
“You don’t see the other professors being called the Transfiguration Master or the Charms Master of the school, do you?”  
  
“No.” Harry paused. “I always figured you just made students call you that.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Snape remained silent, but there was a teasing spark in his eye.  
  
“Anyway,” Harry started, picking up another biscuit and dipping in into his tea. “What did you want to show me?”  
  
The glint in Professor Snape’s eyes hardened, and looked as if he had hoped Harry had forgotten why they had come here.  
  
“Right.”  
  
Snape stood up and retrieved an aquamarine envelope from the top of the mantle. He looked down at it for a moment, before returning to Harry. He didn’t sit back down, but stood beside him.  
  
He pulled out a medium piece of cardstock and placed it in front of Harry, with a forced-sounding, “This was your father.”  
  
Harry straightened up with a start, almost knocking his cup over. It was like looking at an older version of himself, the thin, tan, face and unruly black hair the same. He was wearing a dark gray suit instead of the school jumper underneath his Gryffindor robe, and a pair of square-framed glasses.  
  
“Dad.” Harry breathed, taking in the smiling face. The photo was taken portrait-style, and Harry could make out a fireplace in the background.  
  
“James Potter.” Snape confirmed. “This would have been taken after he was finished with school. It was tradition among wizarding families, to take a final photo with your House robe over something proper.”  
  
“Do you have one?” Harry asked, distracted.  
  
“Somewhere.” Snape grimaced.  
  
Harry was about to ask if he could see it, when another photograph was placed in front of him. It was smaller than the first, but this one came alive as he touched it. It was his mother again, older this time. Her hair was longer and her freckles faded. She was dancing with James, laughing as snowflakes fell onto their hair.  
  
“This would have been shortly after they had gotten engaged.” Snape offered, as he pulled out the last photo. “This was their wedding day.”  
  
Harry’s smile dimmed a little, as he took in the detailing of his mother’s dress, the family crest on his father’s robe. He watched the way their rings glinted, even though the photo didn’t move. He took in the look of absolute adoration they gave each other.  
  
“Mom.” he whispered quietly. “Dad.”  
  
For a second, he hoped they would turn to look at him. He hoped they would speak to him the way the portraits on the wall spoke. He willed the dancing pair from the previous photo to speak to him, but nothing happened.  
  
“I miss you.” he told the photos. “I miss you a lot."  
  
Severus was standing awkwardly beside him, clutching the empty envelope in his hands. He wasn’t particularly sure what the right thing to say was right now, even less when Harry’s eyes seemed to brighten with unshed tears.  
  
He settled for putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder instead.  
  
“What were they like?” Harry repeated the question he had asked just days ago, but he didn’t expect an answer. He just needed to ask it.  
  
“Lily Potter was the light.” Snape answered in a soft voice, and Harry had to strain to hear him. “Everywhere she went, she made the darkness disappear. She was fire and passion and fierceness and love.” He contemplated how to continue. “James Potter was protective of what was his. He was brash and loud and adventurous.  
  
“What else?” Harry asked, desperately.  
  
“They loved you, and everything they did was for you.”  
  
Harry realized he wasn’t going to be told more, but he was already overwhelmed with what he was given. He spread the three photographs out, wanting more than anything to see them.  
  
“Where are they buried?” he asked, suddenly.  
  
“Godric’s Hollow.” Snape answered hollowly. “It was where you were born. They’re buried in an old graveyard behind a church.”  
  
“Do you think we – ”  
  
“Perhaps, some day.” Severus promised dully. “I don’t know when, but one day, I’ll take you there.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Halloween was in three days, and he thought back to the altar he wanted to make. He had found a book in the library, which had offered all sorts of ideas. He planned to clear his bedside table and put everything there.  
  
He picked up the photos. “Can I?”  
  
“They are yours.” Snape answered his unspoken question.  
  
“Where did they come from?”  
  
“Lucius brought them over.” Severus waved the question away. “His wife searched around until she found them.”  
  
“I should write them a thank you note.”  
  
“That would be agreeable.”  
  
Harry got up to leave, holding the photos close to him. He was only going to say goodbye, but ended up caught in the moment. He hugged the professor, wincing when the man stiffened at the sudden contact.  
  
He was about to pull away when Snape put a hand to his shoulder, almost hesitatingly; petting him because he didn’t know what else to do.  
  
“Take your things to your dorm and wash up.” Severus ordered, handing the boy his broom. “It’s time for dinner.”  
  
Harry grinned. “Yes, sir.”  
  
\--  
  
By the time Halloween had arrived, Harry had everything set up. The photos were propped against a stack of textbooks, an empty jar resting in front of them. Professor Sprout had given him a pink wildflower from the greenhouse and Mimsey the House Elf had brought him a small treacle tart to place beside it.  
  
Draco watched as Harry tried to cast a spell Hermione had taught him. It took him a few tries, but he finally managed a little ball of blue flame, which he lowered into the jar.  
  
“Where did you learn that?” Draco asked.  
  
“Hermione showed me.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Harry straightened out the photos, smiling despite himself. It was the anniversary of his parent’s deaths, but he didn’t feel particularly sad. Perhaps it was because he was finally acknowledging the day, or perhaps it was because he wasn’t alone for once.  
  
“Are you ready for Charms?” Draco asked, picking up his bag.  
  
“Almost.” Harry answered, rifling through his trunk. He had ran out of ink yesterday and needed a new pot. “Ready.”  
  
He slipped the container into his bag and stood up. Draco was standing in front of the tiny altar, taking it all in. When he stepped aside, Harry saw he had placed his glass snake beside the makeshift candle.  
  
“Let’s go then.”  
  
They left the dorm room and found Blaise draped over an armchair in the common room.  
  
“It took you long enough.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Blaise shrugged, getting up. He picked up his book bag from the floor and they left the common room. The three of them walked to the Charms classroom, listening to Draco talk about the package he had received during breakfast. His mother had sent a basket of sweets this time.  
  
"I've brought some with me." he whispered, as they took their seats. "We can share some during break."   
  
"Did she send acid pops?" Blaise asked, hopefully.   
  
Draco nodded, pulling out his homework assignment. "There's homemade pumpkin fudge and exploding bonbons, too. I think you'll like the toffees, Harry. It reminds me of a slice of treacle tart."   
  
Harry smiled. It might be the day his parents had died, but for the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone anymore.


	9. Halloween.

It didn’t happen as often anymore, but the whispers still seemed to follow Harry Potter around like some sort of verbal plague.  
  
“It’ll stop soon.” Blaise promised, as he moved to block Harry from sight.  
  
“I’ll make them stop.” Draco threatened, pulling out his wand and glaring at a pair of Gryffindor second-years, who had stopped to stare and murmur, “He’s a Slytherin, Macey. He can’t be a hero, you know? It had to be Dark magic.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Yes, it does.”  
  
“It really doesn’t.” Harry shrugged it off, watching the two students scurry off in frightened giggles. “Come on, I left my essay in the Common Room and I don’t want to be late for History of Magic.”  
  
“It’s not like Professor Binns will notice.” Draco pointed out.  
  
“That we’re late, or that I don’t have my essay?”  
  
“Both, actually.”  
  
“Still.” Harry shrugged again, pulling out his wand and tapping the blank stone wall. “ _Serpentes_.”  
  
Harry had been so focused on his altar this morning, he had forgotten there was a class after Charms. He grabbed his essay, and the three went back upstairs to their next class. It wasn’t any more interesting than usual; Professor Binns continued to teach in this monotonous voice that would put students to sleep, as he spoke about Goblins no one would ever remember.  
  
It was always a relief when the class was finally over.  
  
“Please, tell me we get to drop History of Magic one day.” Draco grumbled under his breath, as he put away his book and quill.  
  
“You know we can’t.”  
  
“Blaise, for once in your life, just tell me something I want to hear.” Draco muttered, pulling out a chocolate truffle from his robe pocket and unwrapping it.  
  
“You realize we’re about to go to lunch, right?” Harry asked, bemusedly watching Draco bite into the chocolate and sigh dramatically over the raspberry filling.   
  
“It’s to make me feel better about having to go to that wretched class.”  
  
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” Theo assured, as he followed the trio out of the classroom. “It can be pretty interesting, sometimes.”  
  
“So you say.”  
  
“If you didn’t fall asleep during class, then you’d be awake during the interesting bits, you know?” Theo teased him.  
  
“If there were interesting bits, I wouldn’t fall asleep.” Draco retorted.  
  
“How are you going to study for the next test, if you’re not awake to write down your notes then?”  
  
“Blaise.”  
  
“I never said I’d give you my notes.”  
  
“Harry then.”  
  
“It might have escaped your notice, since you’re asleep and all, but I am also asleep during History of Magic.” Harry shrugged. “And before you ask, the answer was Blaise.”  
  
Blaise groaned in response.  
  
“So, what I’m getting out of this.” Draco gathered, with a leering smile. “Nothing good comes from being awake during History.”  
  
“Noted.” Blaise shook his head. “I’m going to sleep next time.”  
  
Theo shook his head as well, and continued down the corridor, muttering to himself about work ethic and “ _they’re absolutely impossible.”_ Draco and Harry laughed, as Blaise rummaged through his book-bag.  
  
“I think I left my Charms textbook in the classroom.”  
  
“Let’s go then.”  
  
They returned to the Charms classroom and found the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw class hadn’t quite ended yet.  
  
“Let’s just wait.” Blaise decided, leaning against the wall opposite of the door. “They should be done soon; it’s almost time for lunch.”  
  
The students inside the classroom started packing up their things, and Professor Flitwick stood on his desk to remind everyone about the weekend’s homework.  
  
“Harry!”  
  
“Oh, hey, Hermione.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” she asked, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. Blaise made his way into the classroom. “You’ve already had this class, haven’t you?”  
  
“Blaise forgot his book.”  
  
Hermione nodded, her eyes shining with everything she had learned today. “How did your Charms class go? Did you get your feather to float? It took me a try or two, but I did it. Professor Flitwick said I did a very good job, you know. Even some of the Ravenclaws couldn’t do it."  
  
“Oh, um, no.”  
  
“Oh.” Hermione paused. “Well, that’s alright. You just need to practice some more. Were you moving your wand right? Some of the Gryffindors weren’t pronouncing the incantation right, so that could be it too, or perhaps –”  
  
“Look at that, she socializes with Slytherins.” Ron Weasley pointed out, as he walked out of the classroom with Finnegan and Thomas. Blaise was right behind them, holding his textbook and watching them idly. “She can’t make any actual friends, she’ll stick to anyone who talks to her. What’s that like, Granger? Being friends with slimy Slytherins? They’re evil, you know? I thought you were smart.”  
  
“Didn’t your mother tell you to be careful around us then, if we’re so evil?” Draco sneered. “Or does she have too many children, she forgot about you?”  
  
“Keep out of this, Malfoy.” Thomas warned.  
  
“Oh, let them have her.” Weasley waved the comment away. “Did you hear the way she corrected everyone on their spell work?  She’s an absolute nightmare, honestly.”  
  
Hermione turned red.  
  
“Snape is right; she’s an insolent know-it-all.” Ron continued, shuddering. “Never thought I’d agree with the greasy git, but it’s like you can’t keep from correcting everyone. It’s no wonder you don’t have any friends.”  
  
Hermione didn’t say anything, she just dropped her books and ran off.  
  
“Look at what you’ve done!” Harry shouted, reaching down to pick up her books. Anger was coursing through him and he felt the desire to pull out his wand. He turned to his friends for help.  
  
“Well, the truth hurts, but someone has to say it.” Blaise shrugged lightly, looking in the direction Hermione had run off in. “You have to admit, she was sort of irritating.”  
  
“Not even the Slytherins like her.” Finnegan laughed.  
  
“How could anyone?”  
  
“Oh, shove off!” Harry yelled, finally letting his anger get the best of him and pulled out his wand. “ _Incendio Tria!_ _”  
  
_ “ _Finite Incantatem!”_ Draco exclaimed, hurriedly pulling out his wand as Hermione’s blue flames burst out of Harry’s wand and started to climb up the Gryffindor’s robes. It didn’t do anything to stop the cold flames, and the scarlet-clad trio started shouting in alarm. “ _Aguamenti!”_ he tried next, letting out a laugh of relief as the spray of water put out the fire.  
  
Blaise grabbed Harry roughly by the shoulder and pulled him out of the hallway before the Gryffindors could catch their bearings and retaliate.  
  
Draco let the water wash over the three for another second, looking into the Charms classroom for Professor Flitwick. He wasn’t in there, so he gave the Gryffindors a mocking sneer and bounded after Blaise.  
  
They went inside an empty classroom and locked the door.  
  
“What the blazes were you thinking?” Blaise demanded, turning around to face an ashen-faced Harry. “All this time, I thought Draco was going to be the one to snap and do something stupidly Gryffindor, and it ended up being you.”  
  
“Hey!"  
  
“Take it as a compliment.” Blaise muttered harshly. “I figured you’d hex the next person who said Potter would be the next Dark Lord.”  
  
Draco shrugged; it might have occurred to him.  
  
“So, it’s Potter now?” Harry asked defiantly, still gripping his wand, but his hands were badly shaking. His arm didn’t really hurt, but he could still feel where fingers had grabbed him.  
  
He could still remember it.  
  
He could still remember the hand grabbing him and the yelling. He could still remember being thrown into the cupboard, the door being locked, and then being starved for days. He could still remember being hurt, oh Merlin, he could still remember the heat and the pain of being hit over and over again.  
  
“Harry?” Draco asked, as tears started welling in green eyes. “Are you okay?”  
  
He reached out towards him, and felt a piece of him shatter when Harry flinched and stepped back. “Harry, I’m not going to hurt you.” He chanced a step towards him. “I promise.”  
  
In response, Harry backed up against the wall and slid down. He put his knees against his chest and let the tears fall. His chest was tight, his lungs were burning for air. He couldn’t breathe.  
  
He couldn’t breathe.  
  
He had to breathe.  
  
“Harry?” Draco asked tentatively, kneeling in front of him. “Harry, it’s okay. It’s okay, just breathe, come on.” Harry started breathing even faster. “Blaise?” Draco turned to him, worriedly. He didn’t know what to do to help, but Blaise always did.  
  
Blaise leaned a little closer, making sure to keep his hands to himself. “Harry?”  
  
Harry looked through his black hair, but didn't really see the person before him. “Don’t touch me!” he begged, putting his hands up to his face. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything! I’ll weed out the garden, and wash all the dishes, and I’ll even clean Dudley’s room! Please, just not again.”  
  
“Dudley?” Draco asked, racking his brain for the name. “Harry, who’s Dudley?”  
  
Harry didn’t answer, instead started grabbing handfuls of his own hair and pulled harshly. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”  
  
“Harry. Harry.” Blaise urged. “Come on, we’re not going to hurt you. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that; I didn't know this would happen. But please, you have to calm down.”  
  
“Don’t hurt me!”  
  
Blaise, who was usually so calm and level-headed, started to wring his hands as Harry desperately pushed himself against the wall, as if willing himself to go through it. He turned to Draco, his eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. “You stay here with him. I’m going to get Professor Snape. I don’t know what else to do.”  
  
“I’ll do it.”  
  
“No, you have to stay.” Blaise swallowed thickly. “I don't know why he's like this, but I think it's my fault. I’ll be right back.”  
  
He left.  
  
Draco turned back to the heaving boy and bit his lip. He sat down beside him and tried to keep his voice as steady and calming as possible. “Harry, what’s wrong?”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“What are you so scared of?”  
  
He got a choked mumble in response.  
  
“I didn’t quite catch that.” Draco forced a small laugh. “We really have to work on that. A Slytherin isn’t afraid to be heard, you know? You have to speak with your head up and hex anyone who tries to tell you differently.”  
  
“Her-Herm-Hermy-”  
  
“Breathe, Harry.” Draco insisted, taking a chance and putting a hand on Harry’s knee. “You’re safe, okay? It’s just you and me here, no one else.”  
  
Harry leaned into him, and Draco put an arm around his shoulders. “Everything’s okay.”  
  
“Y-ye –”  
  
“Don’t speak, just breathe.”  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry’s breathing was slowly returning to normal, but his chest was aching. Draco was beginning to wonder what was taking Blaise and Professor Snape so long, when Harry finally spoke up.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t apologize.” Draco assured him, almost astonished. “You have nothing to apologize about. I know what it’s like, remember? I’ve got you.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“I’m sorry about Blaise.” Draco paused, thinking. “You don’t really talk about it, but I know those muggles were awful to you.” He felt Harry stiffen beside him, and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “You talk about them in your sleep sometimes. You talk about your parents too.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“He didn’t mean it, okay? He didn't know you would panic like that. I haven't told him what you say in your sleep. I'm sorry he grabbed you like that. He was just trying to avoid a duel in the middle of the corridor."   
  
“He was mean to Hermione.”  
  
“Technically, he wasn’t mean _to_ Hermione.” Draco pointed out, lightly. “The Weasel was being mean, but Harry, Slytherins don’t exactly make friends with Gryffindors. Snakes look out for snakes, but everyone else is fair game.”  
  
“She’s my friend.”  
  
“I didn’t say you couldn’t be her friend, but Harry.” Draco paused again, grimacing. He tried to gather his thoughts, so he could articulate better. “You can’t expect us to like all your friends, especially someone like her."  
  
“He didn’t have to say it.”  
  
“Harry, you know Blaise, and you know he’s a good person, but they’re Gryffindors. We aren’t supposed to make friends with them – and it’s not like they want to become friends with us, or anything. That’s just, that’s just how it is. We have to protect ourselves from them. If that means making it clear that we don’t like her, just to be left alone, then that’s what we have to do.”  
  
“That’s dumb.”  
  
“It kind of is, yeah.”  
  
“Thanks, for you know, putting out the fire.” Harry smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t really thinking when I did it. It wasn’t supposed to be that big, but I was just so angry.”  
  
“Nothing to worry about.” Draco smiled back. “I’ll always accept an opportunity to blast Gryffindors with water.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Professor Snape chose that moment to step in to the classroom, while Blaise hovered by the doorway. Snape had a hand in his robe pocket, fingers curled around a small phial.   
  
“Mr. Potter,” he greeted softly, looking them over. “It seems like you managed to get things under control, Mr. Malfoy. Are you alright?”  
  
“I think so.” Draco said cautiously.  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
Snape let go of the potion and kneeled in front of his two snakes. He pulled out a dark grey handkerchief and handed it over to Harry, who used it to wipe the tears away and blow his nose before awkwardly handing it back.  
  
Snape’s facial expression didn’t falter, as he took back the used fabric and tucked it into his robe pocket. All this time working with potion ingredients and children had forced him to deal with much worse over the last twelve years. He pulled the Calming Draught out and uncorked it, handing it to Harry who swallowed it back with a grimace. The boy relaxed minutely.   
  
He helped them up. “You three should be at lunch, then.”  
  
Harry shook his head rapidly, and Draco took a protective step in front of him, putting himself between the boy and his godfather.  
  
“Would you like to spend it with me, then?” he asked Harry.  
  
“Draco and Blaise too.”  
  
Snape turned to look at the other two respectively. “Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini, if you’d like to join me and Mr. Potter for lunch in my quarters?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Then, it’s settled.”  
  
Draco put a protective arm around Harry’s waist and they followed Snape out of the classroom.  
  
Professor Snape pulled out his wand and levitated the stack of books and schoolbags sitting in the hallway and led the trio of students back down to the dungeons and into his personal chambers. Draco and Blaise, who had never been in there, took a moment to look around.  
  
Just as Harry had been, they were both surprised with what greeted them. The room was warm, thanks to the low fire. The cream patterned wallpaper was tasteful, and the dark wood of the bookshelves were rich and elegant.  
  
“This is much better than the common room.” Blaise muttered, following Harry’s cue and sitting down at the dining table.  
  
Snape reached over and picked up the spare parchment, setting it on the mantle, before he tapped the table with his wand and called for a house elf.  
  
“Master Potions Master has summoned Mimsey, sir?” the little elf questioned, as she appeared in the kitchenette after barely half a second.  
  
“Lunch for four, please.”  
  
“Yes, Master Potions Master.” Mimsey bowed and apparated away. She returned within a few minutes with two more elves, and they filled the table with an assortment of plates.  
  
“Thank you, Mimsey.” Snape nodded and the house elf bowed once more before disappearing again.  
  
There was a large bowl of an autumnal salad, full of roasted butternut squash and candied pecans, and a platter stacked with Cornish pasties. There was even a warm pitcher of mulled apple cider and a plate of sliced pumpkin bread and butter.  
  
“What happened?” Snape asked, when everyone had filled their plates.  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“He had another panic attack.” Draco answered for him. He bit into a pasty, to keep from having to say more.  
  
“I gathered that much.”  
  
“Some of the Gryffindors were saying things again.” Draco swallowed, when he realized Harry might end up telling him about the near-duel. “It’s still happening, you know? They can’t believe he’s a Slytherin, and they won’t leave us alone.”  
  
Snape nodded, his eyes distant. “That’s just how things are for us.”  
  
\--  
  
It was late afternoon when the hallways began to fill with the scent of roasted pumpkins and baked apples, as the house elves worked on the feast.  
  
By the time dinnertime had arrived, the Slytherin first-years had finished off the sweets Draco’s mother had sent him. They were all walking to the Great Hall, when Harry overheard the two girls talking in front of him.  
  
“Have you heard?”  
  
“Heard about what?”  
  
“Granger – that Gryffindor no one likes – has locked herself in the bathroom all morning. Weasley said some really nasty things to her."  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah, I heard from Lavender that she ran off after Charms. She’s skipped lunch and the rest of her classes too.”  
  
“Well, it’s about time someone brought her down a notch.”  
  
Harry wanted to say something, but the twins – who were in different houses – nodded goodbye to each other, and went to their own tables. Harry completely forgot about Hermione when he stepped through the double doors and looked around.  
  
The Great Hall had been transformed.  
  
It seemed darker and ominous; the glowing orange of the torches were illuminating the dust and spider webs that clung to the old brick. Hagrid’s oversized pumpkins had been carved and were floating over the tables, filled with hundreds of twinkling lights. There were bats flying in formation, and even the ghosts were in attendance tonight.  
  
“Happy Halloween!” Pansy greeted, as the three approached the table.   
  
“Happy Halloween, Pans.”  
  
There were small pumpkins and colored leaves scattered throughout the table, and there were enough golden platters to rival the Welcoming Feast. There were even gaudy skull-shaped baskets dotting the table, full of assorted sweets.   
  
“This is incredible.” Harry breathed, as he helped himself to serving of roast beef and a baked potato. He was reaching for the butter dish, when the doors to the Hall burst open and Professor Quirrell ran in.  
  
His face was shrouded with terror, as he ran up to the staff table. He stopped in front of Professor Dumbledore, hands on his knees, heaving. “Troll!” he shouted, entirely out of breath. “In the dungeon – thought you out to know.”  
  
He collapsed.  
  
The room became chaotic, as all the students started to shout and stand on their chairs, trying to get a look at Professor Quirrell. Some of the students were eyeing the open doors warily. The pandemonium came to a halt when Professor Dumbledore pulled out his wand and shot dark purple sparks into the air.  
  
“Prefects!” he addressed calmly. “Lead your houses back to their dormitories.”  
  
The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Prefects started to herd their charges out of the Great Hall and upstairs to their respective towers. Gemma and Terrence were sharing looks of alarm with the Hufflepuff Prefects.  
  
“The Slytherin Common Room is _in_ the Dungeons!” Hestia Carrow shrieked, from within her group of fourth-year friends.  
  
“It’s not like Dumbledore actually cares about us.” her sister, Flora, muttered. “He didn’t even think twice about sending us to our death.”  
  
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Adrian laughed, as Gemma went to find Snape.  
  
“It’s true.”  
  
Harry was watching the older students argue in bewilderment. “Hermione!” he said suddenly, turning to Draco. “She’s still in the bathroom. She doesn’t know about the troll.”  
  
“So?” Draco asked, whose face had gone pale.  
  
“We have to warn her.”  
  
“We do?”  
  
Gemma Farley returned to the table and made brief eye contact with Terrence. “Professor Snape is already gone, he’s left with the other teachers.”  
  
“What are we supposed to do now?” Hestia wailed.  
  
“We’re going back to the common room.” Gemma said, matter-of-factly. “Everyone has to stick together. The sixth and seventh year prefects – and those in the Dueling Club – will walk on the outsides of the group; wands out, just in case.”  
  
“There’s no way we can get to her.” Draco pointed out, in relief. He grabbed a handful of sweets from the container and filled his pocket.  
  
“I’ll figure something out.” Harry promised, with a glint in his eye.  
  
“Harry.” Draco groaned, and turned to Blaise for help.  
  
"I'm going to the common room." Blaise said briskly, who had decided staying alive outweighed hunting down a Gryffindor, especially when there was a troll hunting down its own dinner.   
  
Harry’s eyes glittered with mutiny.  
  
“Don’t be like that.” Blaise muttered, as the prefects began leading the students out of the Great Hall. Peregrine Derrick, the Captain of the Dueling Club, was bringing up the back of the Slytherin group, with the Hufflepuffs right behind them.  
  
When the two houses began to separate, Harry used the confusion to duck into an empty corridor.   
  
“For Merlin’s sake, Harry!” Draco whispered as loudly as he dared, ducking into the corridor himself. He peered around the corner to see the Slytherins going down a staircase. “She’s not our problem.”  
  
“Well, she’s my friend, so that makes her my problem.” Harry retorted, and ran upstairs towards the girl’s bathroom.  
  
“Bloody hell.” Draco allowed himself to mutter, before bounding after Harry. This was such a stupid idea, but his parents had been Gryffindors, after all.  
  
He reached Harry, who had stopped suddenly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Hush!” Harry murmured, listening intently to the noise of footsteps. “I think there’s someone coming.”  
  
“It’s the troll.” Draco decided, frazzled. “That’s it, we’re done. It’s the troll and it’s going to eat us, and we’re dead.”  
  
They hid behind a stone statue and watched as Professor Snape walked past. His footsteps grew softer as he disappeared up the right-hand stairwell.  
  
“Why isn’t he going to the dungeons, with the rest of the teachers?”  
  
“Perhaps he wants to stay alive.” Draco muttered darkly. “I don’t blame him, to be quite honest with you. I’d like the same.”  
  
Harry peered out, trying to follow where the upstairs corridor went. “He’s going up to the third floor.” he realized, eyes wide. “Why is he – ”  
  
“Harry.” Draco whispered. “Do, do you smell that?”  
  
“What?"  
  
Harry stopped, and sniffed. There was a strong odor of swamp water and old socks, it was a wonder he hadn’t noticed it before. Draco pointed to the end of the hallway with a shaking hand, where a large shadow was emerging. There was the heavy footing of something big, and a deep sort of grunting coming from the shadow.  
  
“Harry…” Draco grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the shadow of the statue they had been hiding behind.  
  
It appeared before them, its large and disproportionate body making it look like a moving stack of sweaty rock, with thick arms and legs.  It was dragging a large club behind him, its eyes half-closed and heavy lidded.  
  
“Harry…” Draco repeated, squeezing tighter.  
  
The troll was coming their way, but stopped as it noticed an opening along the wall. He pushed the door open and crept inside.  
  
“Let’s lock it in.” Harry murmured, pulling out his wand.  
  
“You do it.”  
  
Harry nodded and treaded forward as quietly as he could. He reached in, grabbed the handle, and slammed the door as quickly as he could. He was shakily trying to cast a locking spell on the door, when a scream erupted from within the chamber.  
  
“Hermione!” Harry realized, shoving the door open again.  
  
“Harry!” Draco shouted, following after him. He pulled out his wand and closed his eyes for a second, muttering a quick goodbye. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he wasn’t about to let Harry get killed.  
  
Hermione was cowering against the wall, her face paler than the ghosts that wandered around the school. The troll was trudging towards her, knocking sinks out of the way with its wooden club.  
  
“Hermione!” Harry shouted.  
  
She didn’t turn to look at him.  
  
He looked around the room and tried to think of what to do. “Draco.” he turned to his trembling friend. “Either distract it, or go get Hermione.”  
  
“It may have escaped your notice, Harry.” Draco began, in a haughty voice, but his grey eyes were clouded with terror. “But there is a twelve-foot troll between me and Granger.”  
  
“There will be a twelve-foot troll coming for you, if you’re the one to distract it.” Harry pointed out, never taking his eyes off the troll.  
  
“Fine, I’ll get her out!”  
  
Harry started to tread further into the bathroom, shouting nonsense at the top of his lungs. He picked up some of the broken sink pieces and threw them at the walls. “Hey! Come for me instead, you ugly git! I’m over here!”  
  
The troll starting following Harry instead.  
  
“Granger!” Draco whispered, from his spot near the door. “Come over here! We’ve got to get out of here.”  
  
Hermione didn’t move.  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Draco groaned, watching as the troll advanced on Harry. The last thing he wanted was to actually step further into the chamber. He ran to Hermione and grabbed her wrist, pulling hard. “Let’s go. Now.”  
  
She stood up and let Draco drag her towards the doorway. They were almost there, when Harry yelled out, “Draco!” in such a terrified voice, it made his heart stop.  
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
Harry was cornered. Draco took a deep breath and started pelting the troll’s back with the candy he had stowed in his pockets. “Oi! Get away from him!”  
  
The troll turned around and started advancing towards him.  
  
He had only one plan, and he hoped it would work. “Run!” he shouted, grabbing Granger by the hand and pulling her out of the bathroom. They started running down the hall, shouting as loudly as possible, in hopes the troll would follow.  
  
It did.  
  
They ducked into an alcove and watched as the troll stepped out, its club raised and its eyes frantic. Its nostrils were flaring, as it desperately tried to seek them out.  
  
“For the love of Merlin, Harry better stay in that bathroom.” Draco muttered, keeping an eye on both the chamber door and the monster. The troll swung wildly in frustration, smashing a bit of wall to dust.   
  
“Draco!” Harry’s voice screeched, and the stupidly heroic Boy Who Lived ran out of the bathroom, his glasses crooked and his wand held high.  
  
“This boy is going to kill me.” Draco whispered to Hermione, as he stepped out from their hiding place. The troll had spotted Harry and was raising its club once more. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”  
  
The club levitated, and the ogre stared at his empty hand in confusion. Suddenly, the bat dropped and hit the troll with a sickening thud, followed by another when the troll fell over in an unconscious heap.  
  
“Is it dead?” Hermione asked quietly, coming out of the alcove.  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
Harry stared at the heap and his face broke into a grin; his green eyes dancing with relief and absolute glee.  
  
Draco wasn’t having it.    
  
He crossed the room and stopped in front of Harry, listening to the fury of footsteps running their way. It was only a matter of time before the teachers arrived.  
  
“We did it.” Harry stated the obvious, grinning widely.   
  
Draco curled his fingers into a fist and punched Harry in the shoulder, with all the repressed anger and fear he was feeling. Before Harry could say anything, he scooped the raven-haired boy into a tight hug and let the tears fall.  
  
“Draco?” Harry asked, as Professor’s McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell reached them.  
  
“Never put yourself in danger like that again.” Draco seethed, his breathing becoming slightly ragged. “Or, I’ll kill you myself next time.”  
  
“I love you too.”  
  
“What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall demanded, as Snape went to check on the condition of the troll. Quirrell took one look at the monstrous heap and sank to the ground.  
  
“I can explain.” Harry began, still engulfed in Draco’s hug.  
  
“You’d better have an incredibly brilliant explanation.” Snape threatened, his eyes as cold and dark as Harry had ever seen them. Snape was holding his wand so tightly, his knuckles were white.  
  
“It was me, Professor.” Hermione confessed.  
  
Harry started to protest, but Draco dug his fingers into Harry’s side, in an attempt to keep him quiet.  
  
“Ms. Granger?” McGonagall asked, astonished.  
  
“I was hiding in the bathroom, and I didn’t know about the troll.” she swallowed her pride. “They just came to warn me, but none of us were expecting the troll to be here.”  
  
“You should have gotten a teacher, instead of wandering off like that!” McGonagall turned to face Harry and Draco. Before she could continue, Snape interrupted.  
  
“No offense, Minerva.” he began, in a silky voice. “But, as they’re my snakes, I’ll be the one to punish them.”  
  
Harry paled.  
  
“Fine.” McGonagall muttered, miffed. “Ms. Granger, you’re going to come with me and explain why you weren’t at dinner, and five points will be taken from Gryffindor.”  
  
They left, and Snape took a second to glare at Quirrell before ushering his two snakes out of the corridor as well. He took them into his office and glared at the two of them for a second, before pointing to the two chairs. “Sit.”  
  
They sat.  
  
“Mr. Malfoy, do you need a Calming Draught?” Professor Snape asked his godson, eyeing the way his chest was heaving softly and the sallow look of his skin.  
  
Draco shook his head.  
  
Harry put a hand on his knee, in much the same way Draco had done to him, just earlier that same day.  
  
“Tell me again, why you went after the troll?”  
  
“We didn’t go after the troll!” Harry defended himself, hotly.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
“We were going after Hermione! She didn’t know about the troll.”  
  
“How noble.” Snape muttered, at the same time Draco whispered, “You were going after Hermione. I told you to come back.”  
  
“She’s my friend.”  
  
“She’s a Gryffindor.”  
  
“Mr. Malfoy, it does not matter what house Ms. Granger is in.” Snape reprimanded. “This isn’t about house rivalries. This is about the fact that neither of you went to get a teacher and then foolishly decided you could take on a mountain troll by yourself.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Draco looked at his lap.  
  
“Gemma went to look for you.” Harry told him, bitterly. “She went to look for you because the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons, where the troll was. Some of the students said Dumbledore didn’t care about us. She looked for you, for help, and you were already gone. You forgot about us.”  
  
“That was a mistake on my part.” Snape admitted, somberly. “However, I have full faith in the students I have elected as prefects. I had my own duties.”  
  
“You didn’t go to the dungeons, with the other teachers.” Harry continued. “You were going upstairs, to the forbidden third floor corridor. What does that have to do with your duties of keeping your students safe?”  
  
“That’s none of your concern, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry’s eyes were blazing with hurt.  
  
“You’re supposed to keep us safe, and you just let Dumbledore send us away to where the danger was, and you didn’t even care.”  
  
“I was keeping you safe.”  
  
Harry glared.  
  
Snape shook his head. “You are a student, Mr. Potter. There are things you don’t know about, but just realize, it’s my top priority to keep my Slytherins safe. I was doing just that, and you are not in a position to argue with me. You’re lucky I’m not assigning either of you detention. You saved a student’s life – consider that your prize. Now, go back to the common room. The rest of the students are finishing their feast."  
  
Harry and Draco stood.  
  
Snape sighed. “Ten points to Slytherin, for your blasted bravery. I’ll be telling the Headmaster about this, but as no one was hurt, I don't believe your father needs to know about this, Draco."  
  
Draco nodded in relief.   
  
They returned to the common room, quietly. Just before Draco tapped the stone wall, Harry put a hand on his, to stop him.  
  
“Thank you.” he mumbled, sheepishly. “For helping me save Hermione.  I don’t think I could have done it without you."  
  
“You would be dead without me.”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
They entered the common room together with Harry’s arm draped over Draco’s shoulder. He didn’t think he could trust the blond any more than he did in that moment.  
  
“I’m really lucky to have you.” he whispered, as they took in the common room. There was a large banquet table full of food, and all the students were filling their plates and finding seats amongst the couches and rugs. "I'm glad you're my friend."   
  
“You are pretty lucky.” Draco smirked.  
  
“Yeah, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edits have been made since this chapter's original posting.]


	10. Cerberus Bites.

“I’ve still got to brew more Pepper-Up for Poppy before morning.” Severus muttered to himself with a slight grimace, as he walked the length of the dark hallway, with nothing more than his wandlight illuminating the way. “I still need to grade the homework for tomorrow’s class, don’t I?” He stifled a yawn, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, and I’ve got to owl Lucius and decline Saturday’s dinner.”  
  
“Severus?”  
  
Snape stopped walking abruptly and pointed his wandlight in the direction of the voice. Minerva was coming his way, her robes making a soft swishing sound.  
  
“Minerva.” Snape inclined his head.  
  
“You should have finished your shift two hours ago.”  
  
“And yours doesn’t begin for another three.” Snape returned silkily, turning on his heel and continuing with his patrol, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his leg. He had plans to inspect the Astronomy Tower next.  
  
Professor McGonagall followed. “The troll has put us all on edge, I’m afraid. I’ve found myself unable to sleep and hoped to relieve Quirinus from his duties.”  
  
“As you can see, he’s not here.”  
  
Minerva raised an eyebrow at the haughty sneer on Severus’ face. “Is he still ill? The troll did put him in a right state.”  
  
“I don’t know, nor do I particularly care, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Severus.”  McGonagall chided, but there was something reminiscent of a smirk pulling at her thin lips. “I can take over from here; you look exhausted.  
  
Snape forced his lips into a watery smile. “This job is exhausting. Unfortunately, it’s rather difficult to sleep when my Slytherins have decided to act like Gryffindors.”  
  
“Not all of them.”  
  
“No, just the blasted Harry Potter.”  
  
Minerva gave an empathetic laugh. “He’s like his father, in many ways.”  
  
“It’s unfortunate.”  
  
There was silence after that, save for the soft rustling of cloaks. Severus was counting the steps up the tower, waiting for the particular board that always squeaked, when Minerva spoke again. “He looks just like him.” Her voice was barely a whisper; a soft breath that disturbed the silence like an invisible ghost.  
  
Severus’ stomach clenched.  
  
“He looks just like James, and every time I see him in class, I can’t help but look for the rest of them. Before I remember…”  
  
“He’s not James.” Snape reminded her, stiffly.  
  
“No, he’s not.” Minerva trailed off, lost in old memories. “He looks every bit of him, but he holds so much of Lily inside him, too.”  
  
“You’ve noticed?”  
  
“Tonight proved he’s his father’s son, but that he has his mother’s heart. He faced a troll to save a friend; it’s the loyalty of one and the bravery of the other.”  
  
“And the stupidity of both.”  
  
“It _was_ absolutely reckless, but it’s what his father would have done.”  
  
“Lily gave her life for him.”  
  
“And he for hers.” Minerva gazed at him sadly. “They were quite a pair, weren’t they?”  
  
Snape shrugged.   
  
“I know you weren’t very fond of James, but –” she stopped when Severus snorted in response. “He could be exceptionally cruel as a child," she amended, "but he grew up into someone Harry could be proud of.”  
  
“Yes, I suppose leaving your child behind an orphan _is_ something to be proud of.”  
  
“That’s enough, Severus.” Minerva threatened, using a tone of voice that made even her most rambunctious students stop cold. She had forgotten though, that Snape had suffered much worse in his life, and it did nothing to rid the scowl off the Potion Masters face. “How is he doing?” she deflected.  
  
“He has nightmares.” Snape mentioned, matter-of-factly. “He dreams of those damned muggles who raised him; one of whom I know to be quite unpleasant. He’s afraid to speak up in class. He’s afraid to ask for help. He’s afraid to trust.”  
  
“You’ve grown to know him well?”  
  
“This is only what I’ve observed.” Snape shrugged, opening the door to the watchtower. “He prefers to talk about rather mundane things, like Quidditch. He shuts down if you mention his aunt and uncle. He asks about his parents sometimes. He likes mint tea. He talks if you come to him, but he won’t come to you. He’s protective of what’s his.  
  
“I didn’t expect him to go to Slytherin; I don’t think anyone did.” Minerva murmured, casting her wandlight around the tower. There was no one else there, so she made her way to the edge and looked over the grounds. “He keeps to himself, watching everyone intently. It’s like he maps out everything he says and does, and only speaks up when he’s sure there will be no consequence.”  
  
“He’s cautious.”  
  
“The last two months have shown me why he was sorted there.” Minerva continued, gesturing towards the door and following Severus out. “I would have been proud to have him in my house, but, at the end of the day, you and Mr. Malfoy are probably the best thing to happen to him.”  
  
Severus didn’t say anything at first. They walked along a different corridor, listening for the sound of students out of bed. There was a creak. “Last night reminded me his parents were Gryffindors.” he grumbled, following the sound.  
  
“I didn’t think I’d see the day where a Malfoy would run into the face of danger for a friend.”  
  
“Only when they matter.”  
  
“Yes.” Minerva paused. “It’s not what I expected from the son of Lucius Malfoy, but perhaps Harry Potter is the best thing to happen to him, too.”  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
Minerva gave him a sideways look. His face was thoughtful, as he pointed his wandlight into an empty classroom, whose door was left ajar. He always wore such a severe expression, she sometimes forgot she had been given the privilege to experience otherwise.  
  
His smile could be cruel and sardonic, and it’s what everyone else knew him by, but there were times when the lines of exhaustion and disapproval were absent from his face, and the banter was light, that she considered them friends. But, there were also times when his black eyes were drowning in misery, that she remembered the life he had endured and the student she had neglected.  
  
_Perhaps,_ she thought to herself, as Severus cast his wandlight on the form of two wide-eyed sixth-years, _Harry Potter is the best thing to happen to Severus Snape, as well.  
  
_ The detention slips were written, and the terrified students had been scolded and sent back to their respective towers. Minerva offered to finish the shift alone, and Severus had to agree. He bid her goodnight and returned to the familiar cold of the dungeons. A tempus charm told him it was just after two in the morning.  
  
He entered his room and was slipping off his outer cloak, when he caught sight of the tan-colored envelope resting on his kitchen table, propped against a mug he had left out earlier. He didn’t open it right away, not even to see who the sender was. He didn’t even bother to check the wards that kept his chamber door locked and out of sight. Dumbledore could get inside any room inside this blasted school.  
  
Instead, he undid the buttons of his coat and shrugged it off. He ventured to his bedroom and tossed it into a basket, before stepping into the bathroom. He lifted up his trouser leg, grimacing at the long gash and the dried blood that surrounded the wound.  
  
“Damn it, Hagrid.” he hissed, as he used a damp cloth to clean it up. A cleaning spell would be too harsh. “Where did you even find a god damn hell hound.”  
  
He applied a healing salve to it, shaking his head when the disturbance caused the cut to bleed again. He wrapped a bandage around it, hoping it wouldn’t get soaked through as healing charms were worthless against Cerberus bites.  
  
“I should have taken care of this earlier.” he scolded himself, washing his hands. His face twisted in pain when he put weight on it. It seemed his earlier anger and anxiety had forced him into a state of numbness.  
  
He made a cup of tea laced with a pain-relieving potion and returned his attention to the wretched letter. It smelled of honey drops and lemon sugar. Did the old coot write with a sugar quill? It wouldn’t surprise him.  
  
He rolled his eyes as he read through it. It was really only a matter of time before he would be called to the Headmaster’s Office again. It appeared Dumbledore wanted him to join the other for breakfast in the morning.  
  
“There goes my morning sleep.” Snape muttered to himself, as he stood up with a hiss. He needed to brew those potions for the infirmary and grade his morning class’s homework. He spelled a Correcting Quill over the stack of assignments, and let magic take care of the rest. He wasn’t fond of using the charmed quill, as it was rather obtuse and let his students get off easily, but there were times when it was necessary.  
  
He spent the rest of the early morning hours brewing healing potions. He checked the time when the last one had been bottled and labeled, refusing to hope that he might have an hour or two to sleep before breakfast.  
  
With a groan, he returned to his chamber and stripped off the rest of his clothing. The white shirt he wore under his coat had been stained with the pickled blueberry juice he used in blood-replenishing potions. He undid the tie in his hair and padded into the bathroom, eager for a shower.  
  
The water was hot and soothed the aching muscles in his back. He hurried through it, cursing Dumbledore to Hell once or twice, and got dressed.  He wrapped a new bandage around his calf, cast a drying charm on his hair, and faked his motivation with a Wide-Awake potion.  
  
He didn’t bother with the long trek upstairs; instead, he tossed a handful of floo powder into the dying embers and nearly choked on the ashes as he mouthed, “Headmaster’s Office”.  
  
He stepped out, keeping his face taut as he felt the gash rip open once more.  
  
“Oh, Severus!” Dumbledore greeted, with a twinkle in his eyes. He watched as Snape spelled the bit of soot off his cloak, and gestured to the violently bright purple chair on the other side of his desk. He chuckled as Snape bitterly charmed it black.  
  
“Headmaster.” Snape inclined his head, sitting down.  
  
The large desk had been expanded, making room for the silver platters that appeared the moment Snape had put away his wand. It seemed the house elves had been on call.  
  
“You look absolutely exhausted, Severus.” Dumbledore noticed, as he poured himself a cup of English Breakfast. “Did you sleep at all, my boy?”  
  
“Quirrell was afflicted.” Snape informed the headmaster, his tone still bitter, as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I had to wait until Minerva had awoken, so I could return to my chambers and finish potions for the infirmary.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded. “He has been rather ill lately, hasn’t he? After the scare he had last night, I’m not surprised it was made worse.”  
  
“That’s more of Poppy’s concern than mine, I’m afraid.” Snape shrugged, helping himself to a piece of warm pumpkin bread.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
There was a strange sort of silence that fell over them, as they continued to pick at their breakfasts. It seemed both were waiting for the other to initiate what was on the tip of both their tongues. Slightly annoyed at the time that could have better been spent sleeping, Severus washed down his exhaustion with another sip of coffee and cleared his throat.  
  
“Do you really believe him?”  
  
“Pardon?” Dumbledore asked innocently, but his blue eyes were searching behind his pair of half-moon spectacles.  
  
“Quirrell.” Snape specified. “Do you really believe he was that traumatized by the sighting of a troll? I have two students who faced it off and slept soundly through the night.” He paused, realizing he didn’t know that to be fact. He made a mental note to check on the two during class later. “He’s the Defense teacher!”  
  
“How is young Harry doing, by the way?” Dumbledore deflected, picking up a chocolate croissant and studying the crust.  
  
“He and Draco were both fine.” Snape scowled, knowing the headmaster didn’t particularly care about the Malfoy boy. He wasn’t a part of _the Master Plan_. “Please, don’t try to change the subject, Headmaster.” Snape continued, angrily. “The second everyone’s in a frenzy, he sneaks to the third floor corridor? If you hadn’t assigned me to check the chambers, what would have happened next?”  
  
“The same thing that happened to your leg, I suppose.”  
  
“So, you believe me?” Severus asked, a smallest sliver of hope flitting across his face. They’ve had quite a slew of Defense teachers over the last decade Snape had been teaching, but none as suspicions and irritating as Quirinus. “You think he purposely let the troll in?”  
  
“I’m afraid so.” Dumbledore admitted, sagely. “Because of that, I’m asking you to keep an eye on Professor Quirrell. If my theories are correct, he shouldn’t be suspicious of you.”  
  
Snape almost sputtered out his coffee. “What are you getting at, Albus?”  
  
“I cannot say.”  
  
“You said you have a theory formed.” Severus pressed, putting his cup down. The hot flashes of pain were making him nauseous. “Why do you think Quirrell wants the Stone?”  
  
Dumbledore stared at him thoughtfully. “You should really get some sleep, Severus. I have no qualms if you choose to cancel your classes for the day.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“You can barely walk.” Dumbledore pointed out sensibly, recalling the way he had nearly stumbled into his office. “Did you even go see Madame Pomfrey?”  
  
“There’s no point."  
  
“If you insist.” Dumbledore dropped it, knowing the man could be intensely stubborn when he wanted. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you how to calm Fluffy; the risk was – and is – too great at the moment.”  
  
“Understandable.” Snape nodded, inwardly scowling at the name. Only Hagrid would see a monstrous three-headed beast and lovingly name it Fluffy.  
  
Dumbledore was still studying him, taking in his pallor appearance. “I’m going to cancel your classes and you’re going to take the day off.” he decided firmly. “If you try to argue with me, I will tell Poppy and then you’ll have to deal with her fussing.”  
  
Snape scowled.  
  
“Please, Severus.” Dumbledore admonished, but the twinkle was back in his eye. “She cares about her patients, is all.” His lips turned up a little, as Severus mumbled something unintelligent under his breath. “I’m glad that’s settled.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“So,” the headmaster began casually, pouring himself another cup of tea. “I heard Lucius Malfoy dropped by the castle for a visit, the other day.”  
  
“We had things to discuss.” Snape defended coldly. “He’s dropped by before, over the last couple years.”  
  
“I was merely curious.” Dumbledore assured, swirling sugar into his cup. It was enough to put Harry’s sweet tooth to shame. “Now that the younger Malfoy has started school, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of him.”  
  
“I’ll give you that much.” Snape muttered. Lucius had promised to drop by once more, before the holidays, wanting to ensure the wellbeing of his son. If the Malfoy’s had it their way, they would have their own chamber to share with Draco during the school year.  
  
“Could I ask why?”  
  
“There were some photographs I had requested.” It was frustrating really, how much Dumbledore insisted on knowing other people’s business. Surely, he wouldn’t react the same with Minerva or Filius. It was only because Lucius Malfoy had been on the opposite side of the war, that Dumbledore was wary of him. Perhaps there was some sense in his doubt, but Severus bared the Mark just the same.  
  
“Photographs?”  
  
“Harry didn’t know what his parents looked like.” Severus admitted somberly. “He wished to know them, and I had nothing more than a photo of Lily from our school days. The Malfoy’s – Narcissa, especially – have quite the connections. If anyone could find photos of the Potter’s, it was her.”  
  
“And she did?” Dumbledore asked, mild surprise coloring his tone. “For nothing in return?”  
  
“Narcissa Malfoy is a mother.”  
  
“I’m quite aware, Severus, but she’s also a Malfoy.”  
  
Severus straightened up and put on a blank face. “She’s not just a mother, but a mother to the son who’s become Harry Potter’s best friend. They might have made shady decisions in the past, but in the end, family trumps everything else.”  
  
“They could be doing this to gain Harry Potter’s favor.”  
  
“Harry Potter is eleven.” Snape shot back, picking up his mug and gripping it tightly, in an attempt to keep himself from pulling out his wand. “He doesn’t have much power to wield.”  
  
“He’s still the saviour of the Wizarding World.”  
  
“He’s a child!” Severus lost his temper, standing up. He ignored the streak of pain up that shot up his leg and held onto the back of the chair tightly. “He’s a child who doesn’t understand how he did what he did, or what he even did. He’s a child who lost his parents to an absolute monster. He’s a child who grew up neglected and alone. He’s a child who’s finally found a place that wants him, who’s finally made friends.”  
  
“You’ve grown fond of him.” Dumbledore stated, already knowing the answer. There was a blasted twinkle in his eye, as he appraised his surly Potions teacher.  
  
“He’s not horrible.”  
  
“Did he meet Lucius?”  
  
“For a minute.” Severus answered cautiously.  
  
“Ever since that day, you have never given me a reason to not trust you, Severus.” Dumbledore told him, seriously. “I know you won’t let harm come to Harry Potter. I apologize for still being wary of Lucius, but I trust you.”  
  
“Yes, well."  
  
“Go.” Dumbledore waved him towards the fireplace, with a serene smile. “Your face is turning whiter than I thought possible. I’ll cancel your classes. I know Harry Potter can’t be safer than with you. We’ll talk about Quirrell when I know more.”  
  
“Good day, Headmaster.”  
  
“Good day.”  
  
Severus returned to his chambers and trudged into the bathroom. He attended to the wound, grimacing as he peeled off the blood-soaked bandages. He had suffered far worse than this, but damn it, that had been years ago. Apparently your tolerance for pain lowered when you no longer suffered as often.  
  
With a fresh bandage wrapped around the gash, he sent himself to bed. The sheets were soft underneath him, and soon enough he had dozed off beneath the warm blankets.  
  
\--  
  
It seemed word of what had happened last night had spread like wildfire. When Harry entered the common room the next morning, Marcus Flint made a beeline for him. He was red-cheeked and pinch-faced, similar to Aunt Petunia’s after Harry had trudged mud into her clean kitchen.  
  
“You could have been killed, Potter!” he shouted without preamble, pointing a sharp fingernail into Harry’s shoulder. “Do you even think? There would be absolutely no chance of winning tomorrow without a trained seeker on the team!”  
  
“Lay off him, Flint.” Adrian interrupted, with a sleepy grin. “He faced off a troll last night – and Professor Snape. You’re probably not that scary to him.”  
  
Adrian’s comment made Flint stop cold, and he whirled back towards Harry. “Don’t you dare tell me Snape banned you from the game, because I swear to fucking Merlin, Potter –”  
  
“Lay off.” Adrian repeated, looking irritated. “You’re the fucking team captain. If he wasn’t allowed to play, you’d know it.”  
  
Flint looked to Harry for confirmation, who managed a slight nod. Flint stalked off and Terrence caught up with him, shooting Harry an apologetic look.  
  
“Sorry about him.” Adrian apologized, walking Harry over to where Draco and Blaise had been watching with astonished looks. “He can be a right arse, right before a game. Come to think of it, he’s always an arse.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
Draco was seething. “If he thinks he can yell at you, just because he’s the team captain and you’re a first year, he has another thing coming. Just wait until my father hears about this.”  
  
“Draco, it’s fine.” Harry mumbled tiredly. taking a moment to absorb the words. “Wait, why not Professor Snape?"  
  
Draco blanched. "I don’t think Professor Snape wants to talk to us, so soon after last night.”  
  
“Well, we didn’t get in trouble, did we?” Harry asked, mulling it over.  
  
“Barely.”  
  
“I don’t understand how you didn’t.” Blaise muttered. “He lets us get away with a lot of things, but that just seems unreasonable.”  
  
“Granger did take the blame."  
  
“I don’t know.” Blaise shrugged. “I would be careful around him, you know? If you do something else wrong so soon, he might snap.”  
  
Harry shuddered. He didn’t want to think what the Professor was capable of, when he was truly angry with someone.  
  
“Then we’ll do everything perfect in potions.” Draco decided, as they reached the Great Hall. “You’ll win us the Quidditch game, and afterwards, he won’t even remember why he was upset with us.”  
  
“I didn’t do my potions homework.” Harry whispered, dropping to his seat. “Somehow, I don’t think Snape is going to accept ‘I was fighting a troll’ as a reasonable excuse to not have it.”  
  
“Yeah, I wouldn’t remind him about that.”  
  
“What am I going to do?”  
  
“Well, all you have left is to win the game.” Draco pointed out sensibly, as he spread raspberry preserves on a piece of toast. “Do you have practice tonight?”  
  
“No.” Harry murmured, nervously eyeing the staff table. “Flint doesn’t want anyone getting hurt by a bludger the night before the first game. He made us practice extra hard Wednesday.”    
  
“At least he cares about that.” Blaise shook his head.  
  
“Professor Snape isn’t up there.” Harry pointed out, biting into his blueberry pastry with a sense of relief. He didn’t want to accidentally be the one to make him snap, so early in the morning.  
  
“He rarely is.” Blaise shrugged.  
  
“I wish I wasn’t.” Draco complained, stifling a yawn. “I don’t understand why they make us wake up so early for class. How are we supposed to learn if we’re not awake?”  
  
“Speak for yourself, Malfoy.” Theo called from down the table.  
  
“Shut it, Nott.” Draco pelted him with a pastry. “I wasn’t talking to you.”  
  
They made their way to the Potions classroom after breakfast. There was a group of students milling outside the locked door, but they were slowly dispersing in a fit of whispers and giggles.  
  
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, craning to see the notice pinned on the door. It was one of those times his short stature made things difficult. “Due to unforeseen circumstances,” he read the note to himself when the crowd cleared, “all of Friday’s potion classes have been cancelled. Classes will resume Monday morning and any inquires can be redirected to the inbox outside Professor Snape’s office. Signed, Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."  
  
"What's that about?" Draco asked, reading the note for himself.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
“Do you reckon’ he’s sick?” Harry asked, as he caught the end of a rumor being whispered behind him.   
  
“I’m sure he’s fine.” Draco waved the concern away. “You should be glad we don’t have to face him so soon after the troll last night.”  
  
“You should be glad you’re alive.” Blaise muttered.  
  
“You’re just jealous you missed the adventure.” Draco shot back with a smirk. “Admit it, Zabini. You regret going straight to the common room.”  
  
“I definitely do not.”   
  
“Do you think he would get mad if I turned my homework assignment to him?” Hermione asked, approaching the group. She gave Draco a wary, experimental smile. “I don’t want him to think I didn’t finish it in time.”  
  
“Granger, if Snape’s going to believe anyone did their homework on time, it’ll be you.” Draco assured her. “If you don’t turn it in, you’ll keep the bar low for the rest of us.”  
  
“Yeah, I haven’t done mine yet.” Harry admitted.  
  
“You were just going to walk into Potions without your homework?” Hermione asked, looking somewhat horrified. “What if there had been class?”  
  
“I don’t know, okay? I was a little busy last night.”  
  
“You had the entire week to do it, Harry.” Hermione pointed out, sensibly.  
  
“You know, she’s kind of right.” Draco added.  
  
Harry glared at the both of them. “I think I liked it better when the two of you didn't talk." he grumbled. "Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore, because there is no class. I’ll have it finished for the next one. Now, come on. We don’t have class until after lunch now, and I’d like to spend some time outside.”  
  
The four met at the bottom of the grand staircase, dressed in their outdoor cloaks and hats. They made their way along the Black Lake, with Harry clutching the Quidditch Handbook he had been lent.  
  
“Harry, you’ve been practicing for weeks now. You’ll do fine.”  
  
“Yeah, but we’ve only been practicing.” Harry pointed out, skimming the pages for the tenth time. “I know how to catch the snitch. But we haven’t played an actual game yet. What if I do something wrong? Did you know there are 700 different ways you can commit a foul?”  
  
“Seriously?” Hermione asked, studying a stone before tossing it into the water. She let out a sigh of disappointment when it didn’t skip.  
  
“You have to flick your wrist, like this.” Draco informed her, picking up stone and tossing it himself. He flicked his wrist and watched as the stone skipped once – twice – thrice across the water. “Merlin! Did you see that, Harry! It skipped!”  
  
“It’s about time.” Harry muttered, closing his book and tucking under his arm. He turned towards Hermione. “I think that’s the second stone he’s skipped yet.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Hermione picked up another stone and grinned triumphantly when it skipped twice. “Oh, there we go.” She gave Draco another tentative smile. She knew he wasn't very fond of her - not many people were, to be frank - but after last night, she didn't think he fully despised her. He helped save her, after all.   
  
The water, which was a dark gray, was beginning to crash rather roughly against the pebbled bank. The November wind blowing across the water’s surface sprayed them with a cold mist, breaking through the warming charm Blaise had cast.  
  
“Oh, I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow.” Harry looked up at the overcast sky with a frown. “I’m too nervous to play as it is.”  
  
“You’ll be fine.” Draco assured him, rubbing his arms. “Let’s get inside. We’ll have a spot of tea and play some chess until Herbology.”  
  
“Tea?” Hermione asked, as they walked back towards the castle. “Where are you going to get tea? We’re not allowed in the kitchens, remember?”  
  
“Doesn’t your common room have a tea set?” Harry asked.  
  
“No."  
  
“That’s a shame.” Draco shrugged.  
  
They parted ways, and went back to their common rooms. Harry wished Hermione could come with them. It wasn’t fair that the students weren’t allowed to socialize in other students' houses. They were confined to the library, the corridors, or outside.  
  
Back in their common room, Draco flocked towards the emerald teapot and sniffed its contents thoughtfully. "I think it's Darjeeling, if you're okay with that?" At Harry's nod, he picked up the tea tray and brought it over to an unoccupied table near the fireplace.   
  
"I don't know how to play chess." Harry brought up tentatively, as he poured himself a cup. "I've never played."   
  
“I can teach you.” Draco offered, fixing himself a cup before going up to the communal bookcases and bringing back a thin box made from gleaming wood. He started pulling out chess pieces carved from white marble. “Now, Wizard Chess is a little more difficult, simply because the pieces need to trust you.”  
  
“Trust me?”  
  
Harry swirled a little sugar in his cup and made himself comfortable on the other side of the table. Blaise had retrieved a book from his room and was lounging on the couch behind Draco, precariously balancing his cup against his side.   
  
“Yeah.” Draco arranged the intricate pieces. “They literally become yours. If you show them you’re a good player, they’ll follow your instruction. If you’re not, they’ll hesitate and might not listen to you. Now, when you own a set, they’ll usually only answer to you, and not want to play with other people. These are charmed to play with everyone – regardless if you’ve ever played."  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“The point of the game is to checkmate your opponent’s King.” Draco picked up the biggest piece. “This is your King – you have to trap it, so it can’t make another move to win. This right here, is your Queen. She’s the strongest piece in the entire game – she can move any number of squares in any direction.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“As for your bishops…”  
  
They spent the rest of the morning playing Wizard Chess, and although Draco won every single game, Harry had fun. There was even one game, where Draco actually had to think about his next move.  
  
“You’re a fast learner.” Draco complimented, as they went to lunch. “Pretty soon you might be able to beat Blaise at a game.”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“I’m infallible.” Draco gloated. “I’m thinking about challenging anyone who thinks different. It would be fun to have some competition for once.”  
  
“There should be a Chess Club.” Harry offered, thoughtfully. “That way, you can know if you’re the best chess player, not just in your house, but in the school.”  
  
“I like the way you think, Potter, but that wouldn’t work.” Draco grumbled. “Gryffindors mingling with Slytherins? We might as well just save ourselves the trouble and call it a Dueling Club.”  
  
“There’s already one of those."  
  
“Yeah, but you have to be a sixth year to join.”  
  
“Well, when we’re in sixth year, we’ll be the best Dueling Club Champions this school has ever seen.” Harry promised, filling his bowl with butternut squash soup and buttering a piece of warm bread.  
  
“There’s only one per house, Harry.”  
  
“Well, we’ll be so good, they’ll have to make an exception.  
  
Draco just stared at him. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.” he muttered, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.  
  
Harry dipped his bread into his soup. “Professor Snape isn’t up there.” he frowned, looking over the staff table. “Do you think he’s okay?”  
  
“He’s probably just busy, Harry.”  
  
“What if he's actually sick though?"  
  
Draco shrugged, buttering a piece of bread for himself.  
  
“We should go see him.”  
  
“What?” Draco asked, nearly choking. “What did I tell you this morning? We just barely escaped getting into trouble and you want to remind him you exist?”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with checking up on someone.” Harry insisted.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
After Herbology, Draco and Harry made their way towards the dungeons.  
  
Harry tapped his wand against the tapestry, when they reached the end of the corridor, and whispered the password he had heard Professor Snape use last. They pushed through the green and silver fabric, finding themselves at the dead end.  
  
“Now what?” Draco asked.  
  
“Snape usually puts his hand against the wall, around here.” Harry tested the stone, but nothing happened. “I think it reads his magical signature.”  
  
“Well, it definitely won’t open for us.”  
  
“Then how does anyone get ahold of him?” Harry asked, pressing his hand against a different stone. The shimmering doorway didn’t appear.  
  
"They floo call, Harry."  
  
Harry turned towards Draco with a puzzled expression. “What’s a floo call?”  
  
“What’s a floo call?” Draco repeated, somewhat incredulous. “And here I thought we were done with questions about the wizarding world. Never mind, you’re right. There is a lot to learn when you’re raised in the muggle world. The Floo Network is the connections between people’s fireplaces. You throw floo powder into it and either step into it or just stick your head into it, and announce the other place’s name. You can jump from one fireplace to the other – as long as the other fireplace isn’t locked. Or you can make calls to other wizards.”  
  
“Like a telephone.” Harry nodded.  
  
“A what?”  
  
“It’s a muggle device.” Harry explained. “Um, every house has their own series of numbers and you just punch in the numbers on the phone and it calls the other person.”  
  
“And you have to remember everyone’s number?”  
  
“Well, you can write it down.”  
  
"Can you use it to visit each other?" Draco asked curiously, as Harry tried tapping his wand against the stone.  
  
"Oh, um, no."  
  
"That's terribly inconvenient." Draco huffed.

The stone wall started to shimmer, and a door appeared. “Oh, I think I got it.” Harry declared, stepping back.  
  
Before he could knock, the door opened, and Professor Snape peered out. He looked rather annoyed and tired. “What are you two doing here?” he asked.  
  
Harry’s face fell, as he realized he hadn’t been the one to make the door appear, after all. He clutched the parchment in his pocket before answering. “Professor Snape.” he inclined his head slightly. “We just, um, wanted to see if you were okay.”  
  
Professor Snape’s face seemed to soften, as a series of expressions flitted across it. It ended with his eyes burning with disbelief. He cleared his throat. “You might as well come in. There’s no point in having you stand there.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
They stepped through the doorway and followed him towards the table, watching the way he leaned heavily against the walls and limped into the kitchen.  
  
“Professor?” Harry asked, as Snape pulled down a kettle and filled it with water. He placed it on the stovetop and it started steaming in seconds. “Did you hurt yourself?”  
  
“Indeed, Mr. Potter.” Snape answered briskly, as he fitted three mugs with teabags and poured the hot water over it. His face was a little chalky, as he turned towards the table.  
  
“Here, I’ll take that.” Harry intercepted, taking the tray from his professors hands and set it on the table. After a moment of deliberation, he opened the cupboard and pulled down a box of ginger lemon biscuits.  
  
“Well, you’ve obviously spent a lot of time here.” Draco commented, swirling a bit of sugar into his orange blossom and chamomile blend.  
  
Harry shrugged. “I like it here.”  
  
He added a little sugar to his own cup. “How did you hurt yourself? Why did you cancel class? Have you seen Madame Pomfrey?"  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”  
  
“I was just curious.”  
  
“It’s none of your business, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“Oh, come on.” Harry pouted. “The first Quidditch game is tomorrow, you know. What if I come across whatever hurt you and can’t play? Shouldn’t I be prepared?”  
  
"There’s no reason for you to be near what hurt me.” Professor Snape retorted coolly, taking an achingly long sip of his tea. “You’ll be in far worse trouble with me, you’ll have wished it finished you off.”  
  
Harry paled.  
  
“Can’t you just heal it with magic?” Draco asked.  
  
“Magic doesn’t fix everything, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“We thought you might have been sick.” Harry admitted, pulling out the parchment. “I made you this during Herbology.”  
  
Snape took the Get Well card, eyeing Harry suspiciously. “Am I to presume you had nothing better to do during class than make this, Mr. Potter?” It was a rather touching gift, but he was a professor, after all. He, for one, wasn’t going to let students make cards for Pomona during Potions.  
  
“I was worried.”  
  
“Even so.”  
  
“Are you going to be able to attend the game?” Harry asked, suddenly remembering how far the distance was. “The pitch is pretty far away.”  
  
“There’s no reason for this to still be bothersome come morning.” Snape assured, eyeing the quickly depleting package of biscuits with disdain. “I’ve put far too much effort into this year’s team to not attend.” He paused, smirking a little. “Don’t let me down, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry gulped. “I won’t, sir.”  
  
“You’ll do great, Harry.” Draco assured.  
  
Harry nodded timidly. He was really worried about messing up something obvious and costing Slytherin their win. He had read the handbook front to back four times now, and skimmed it over a dozen. He had worked hard every practice. Tomorrow was the first chance to show everyone he was really worthy of being on the team.  
  
He only hoped he didn’t mess up too badly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited.


	11. Quidditch.

“Please, tell me you just woke up.”  
  
Harry turned his head and watched as Draco sat up, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes. Even with his blond hair falling carelessly over his forehead and his eyes squinting against the sunlight streaming through charmed windows, he still managed to look disapproving.  
  
Harry smiled sheepishly.  
  
Truthfully, he had been lying awake for nearly two hours now, listening to his friends’ soft breathing as his stomach clenched and his thoughts flitted about with equal parts excitement and nervousness.  
  
“I don’t want to know the answer.” Draco shook his head, standing up and trudging towards the bathroom.  
  
Harry returned to staring at the folds of green fabric that made up his canopy, going over every fact he had acquired about Quidditch. He felt he could probably play every position by now, if he weren’t so _terrified_ of making a fool of himself.  
  
There was a part of himself that wanted to back out. What if he fell off his broom? Sure, he wasn’t afraid of falling to his death anymore, but he was terrified of falling off in front of the entire school. What if the other team had racked too many points and the extra hundred points from catching the snitch didn’t matter? What if he got hit in the face by a bludger? Or caused his team to lose the Quaffle by being in their way? Or –  
  
“You’re overthinking again.” Draco muttered, who had unnoticeably returned from the bathroom and was standing right next to Harry.  
  
“Sorry.” he mumbled; he had quite the habit of doing that.   
  
“What is it this time?” Draco asked, perching on the edge of the mattress. “If it has anything to do with Quidditch, I’m leaving. You’re going to be fine.”  
  
“What if I fall off?”  
  
“Then I’ll laugh the entire way to the hospital wing.” Draco replied, solemnly.  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow, relaxing as the corner of Draco’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “What if the entire school laughs at me?”  
  
“They might.” Draco admitted. “But, honestly Harry, you can’t worry about what everyone else thinks about you. The only people whose opinions matter, are your own.” He paused. “And mine, of course.”  
  
“Mine too.” Blaise added.  
  
“And Blaise’s.” Draco amended.  
  
Harry still looked uncertain. “I guess.”  
  
“Come on.” Draco sighed. “Get up and get dressed; you need breakfast.”  
  
While Harry pulled on a green jersey over a pair of white trousers, Draco and Blaise wrapped green and silver scarfs around their necks. Draco added a matching hat, carefully perching it over combed back hair.  
  
“Alright, I’m ready.” Harry swallowed, as he finished tying on his dragonhide boots.  
  
“Your hair looks absolutely atrocious.” Draco complained, studying him. “But you look rather…nice, in that. Green looks nice on you.”  
  
“Thanks.” Harry mumbled awkwardly.   
  
As they made their way towards the Great Hall, they were stopped by three different Slytherins who wanted to wish Harry luck on the match.  
  
“Thanks.” he smiled lightly, slowly feeling his excitement build.  
  
The Great Hall had been decorated with two large flags – one red and one green. Majority of the students seemed to be wishing the Gryffindor Quidditch team good luck, but that didn’t stop the Slytherins from cheering as loudly as they could every time one of their own team members walked into the Great Hall.  
  
“Good luck, Harry!” someone yelled out, as they chose a seat.  
  
“It’s gonna be a good game!” someone else added.  
  
“We’re rooting for you!”  
  
“Yeah, we’ll be here to catch you if you fall off your broom!” came a laughing shout from the Gryffindor table.  
  
“Who let a little kid on the team?” another Gryffindor asked.  
  
Harry momentarily realized this was the first time the entirety of the school was finding out about his position. Half of Slytherin House knew, and a handful of other students, but he was slowly coming to terms with just how _small_ that handful was. It seemed the entire student body was staring at him in mock support and confusion.  
  
“Breathe.” came the baritone voice behind him.  
  
Professor Snape had entered the Great Hall moments before and had been holding a whispered conversation with his two main prefects when he had noticed Harry standing stock-still in front of an empty seat.  
  
“Right.” Harry nodded, forcing himself to let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Visions of falling in front of everyone were flitting back to mind.  
  
“Sit down, Mr. Potter.” Snape advised rather sternly. “You’ll need to eat something, if you think you’re going to play in today’s match.”  
  
Feeling rather alarmed with the idea of having to practice this much and then not being allowed to play, simply because his anxiety was making him nauseous, Harry sat down and piled a rasher of eggs and bacon on his plate.  
  
Professor Snape nodded, and continued towards the staff table, stopping twice more to talk to a second year and Marcus Flint, respectively. He was still limping, but his face wasn’t as chalky as last night, which Harry took as a good sign.  
  
“Alright there, mate?” Adrian asked, leaning over the table to snatch the jar of raspberry preserves from besides Draco’s plate. Draco glared at him, as he wiped the crumbs off his upper lip. “There’s plenty more jam to go around, mate.”  
  
“There’s only so much raspberry.” Draco muttered.  
  
“I’m just nervous.” Harry shrugged, watching bemusedly as Adrian piled more than enough jam on his piece of toast, just to get a reaction out of Draco.  
  
“It’s only fair to be.” Adrian nodded, taking a large and sticky bite. “Don’t worry about it; the nerves go away once you kick off. Then, it’s just like practice.”  
  
“Just like practice.” Harry repeated.  
  
“Yeah, you’ve got the easy part.” Cassius laughed, from his spot beside Adrian. “You’ve just got to fly in circles until the snitch gets released.”  
  
“And avoid bludgers.” Harry reminded them.  
  
“Hey, Higgs and Montague are excellent Beaters – they’ll keep you safe.” Cassius insisted. “The Weasley twins might be admirable, but Slytherin is done with their losing streak. We can’t win if our seeker is hurt.”  
  
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Harry muttered, mostly to himself. Draco put a supporting hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.  
  
Breakfast seemed to stretch on forever. Harry could only manage to pick at two pieces of bacon and half a slice of toast before his stomach felt it would turn itself inside out in distress. He only hoped Professor Snape hadn’t been paying attention to his meager intake. He wanted nothing more than to hide in his room until the game started, but it seemed the entirety of Slytherin House was taking turns in wishing the team luck, one by one.  
  
“You’re going to do great.” Draco promised, as the clocks chimed eleven and everyone hurried to the pitch in a flurry of noise and excitement.  
  
“More than great.” Blaise added, finishing off his cup of tea.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Harry followed Adrian out of the Great Hall, trying to look confident and ready, but he probably looked more like a lost little kid trailing behind his older brother. The team had assembled in one of the locker rooms, where they were all slipping into dark green robes and leather pads.  
  
“Take these, Harry.” Higgs said, handing over a pair of fairly worn, fingerless leather gloves. “They’re not new, by any means, but they never let me down.”  
  
Harry took them thankfully, noticing Terrence had a brand new pair on. It made sense that these were his old ones. He made a mental note to buy himself a pair of quidditch gloves.   
  
“Alright, team.” Flint began, as everyone began to collect their respective brooms and formed a circle. Harry thumbed the sleek handle anxiously. He noticed everyone else had polished their brooms and idly wondered if he should have done the same. His broom was much newer though, and wasn’t actually in need of it.  
  
“ – and I expect you to win this fucking thing!” Flint finished, putting his hand in the middle. Harry jumped slightly, realizing he had been elsewhere. He took a moment to ground himself, as he put his hand in the pile. The air smelled damp and clean after last night’s rain. His robes felt warm and secure against his body. He felt his anxiety shift towards full-on excitement as his ears registered the cheering from the stands. “Alright, three, two, one!”  
  
“SLYTHERIN!” the team shouted, all except Harry, who didn’t know what was coming. Once again, he made a mental note for the next game.  
  
Flint led them out of the suffocating locker room and onto the pitch. There were loud cheers coming from their house and Harry straightened up. As they approached center field, the Gryffindor team appeared from the other end. The cheers grew in volume and flags were being waved around. Looking around, Harry was disappointed to see three-fourths of the school dressed in red and gold.  
  
Slytherin wasn’t about to let themselves become invisible though, as a large _crack_ erupted and green and silver sparks fell over the entire pitch. Harry saw Professor McGonagall’s lips press into a disapproving line from his place on the field, and he smiled just a little at Professor Snape’s seemingly feigned ignorance towards his students. He was wearing a scarf too, the only touch of color against his imposing black robes.  
  
“Alright, we want a fair game!” Madame Hooch was saying, and once again, Harry had to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Captains – shake hands. Now, mount your brooms.”  
  
Madame Hooch blew her whistle.  
  
They kicked off into the air, and the game began. Adrian had been right – once he was in the air, he felt a little bit braver. It was just like practice, he told himself. Just like practice.  
  
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is – and quite attractive too!”  
  
“Jordan!” Professor McGonagall scolded.  
  
It seemed the game was being commentated by Lee Jordan – he was vicariously known for being friends with the Weasley twins, but Harry had seen him hang around Adrian a couple times too. He continued to listen to Jordan’s somewhat biased commentary, as he flew lazy circles around the pitch. The Weasley twins worked flawlessly together, but Higgs and Montague had excellent reaction times. Harry cringed a little when Katie Bell of Gryffindor was hit in the back of the head by a bludger.  
  
It wasn’t long before Gryffindor scored the first goal.  
  
“Oh, bother.” Draco grimaced, as the scarlet-clad fans started screaming in delight.  
  
“It’s just started.” Pansy assured, taking the expensive binoculars from Draco’s hand and peering through them anxiously. “The chances of winning the game with the Quaffle is really low here; it’s really all up to Harry.”  
  
“I know that, Pans.” Draco muttered, snatching the binoculars back.  
  
There was a low rumbling as the Gryffindor fans started stomping their feet in a syncopated motion, waving their red and gold flags around.  
  
“Slytherin’s in possession!” Lee Jordan continued, once the noise started to soften. “Passes it to Pucey, who looks like he’s going to – wait, is that the snitch?”  
  
Harry suddenly remembered he was supposed to be playing and looked around frantically for the golden snitch. He caught sight of the fluttering wings, but the Gryffindor Seeker was much closer than he was. He leaned his broom forward and shot towards the snitch as quickly as he could.  
  
“It looks like Harry Potter is making way towards the snitch – look at that Nimbus 2000 go, ladies and gentlemen! Oh, but it looks like Andrew Kirke is about to win Gryffindor their first game of the season!” Jordan continued, as everyone watched anxiously. It seemed the Chasers had stopped caring about the Quaffle for the moment.  
  
Harry was losing hope fast; he was never going to make it before Kirke, but a second later the Gryffindor Seeker had collided with Marcus Flint, who had casually flown right in his path. The snitch darted away and the scarlet crowd started to shout furiously.  
  
“Foul!” came the shouts.  
  
Harry was torn between knowing that the play wasn’t fair and the immense relief that he had another shot to prove his worthiness on the team.  
  
Madame Hooch blew her whistle and pointed at Flint, who flew sheepishly towards her. They had an angered conversation before Gryffindor was allowed a free shot.  
  
“So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –” Lee muttered.  
  
“Jordan!” Professor McGonagall scolded again.  
  
“I mean, after that open and revolting foul – ”  
  
_“I’m warning you!”  
  
_ Harry stopped paying attention as a bludger whizzed by his head. He had barely managed to gather that Gryffindor had scored their penalty goal when his broom gave a sudden lurch without his permission.  
  
Fear swept through him; he had only been holding on tightly to swerve away from the bludger. If he hadn’t, he surely would have been thrown off by that violent and rather sudden motion.  
  
The broom lurched again, and this time, Harry almost did fall off.  
  
Harry tried to turn towards his team members, but found he was unable to control the broom. He couldn’t made it turn, slow down, or even land. He looked around frantically for Flint, wondering if he was close enough to hear him shout “time out!” when it tossed him forward again.  
  
The broom was climbing higher in the air, and Harry was feeling desperate. No one paid attention to the seeker until the snitch was spotted. He thought about screaming for help, but found the sound had caught in his throat.  
  
“Professor Snape.” he barely whispered, clinging onto his broom handle for dear life. Surely, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed the sporadic jerks and came to help.  
  
“Slytherin’s in possession!” Lee Jordan announced and Harry groaned slightly. If Slytherin had the ball, then Professor Snape was definitely not going to look for him. “Flint has the Quaffle! Passes Spinnet – passes Bell – oh, and hit in the face with a bludger!” he added, gleefully. Down in the stands, Pansy and Draco shared pained looks as blood started streaming from Flint’s nose in ribbons. “I hope that hurt – I’m only kidding Professor – and oh, no, Slytherin scores!”  
  
“What is Harry _doing_?” Pansy asked above the cheers, looking up at Harry’s distant figure.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Is he trying to show off?” Tracey Davis sniffed, an unimpressed expression on her face. “Because it’s definitely catching the Gryffindor’s attention."  
  
“Does he even know how to fly?” someone shouted, as Harry’s broom started rolling in rapid circles. He jerked forward and was now dangling fifty feet in the air, barely holding on with one hand.  
  
“They really shouldn’t have let a first year on the team.”  
  
“There’s rules in place for a reason, you know.”  
  
Draco shared a panicked look with Blaise, who had been silent for most of the match. “Do you think he’s doing that on purpose?” Blaise only shrugged, biting his lower lip as he watched Harry try to heave himself back up.  
  
“He’s going to fall!”  
  
There were worried gasps flitting through the stands now, as the crowd began to fully notice what was happening with Harry. Down on the pitch, the Weasley twins and Adrian Pucey gathered beneath Harry, as if to catch him, but every time they tried to get nearer, the broom went higher.  
  
Terrence Higgs was so distracted watching the scene unfold that when a bludger started careening towards him and the player next to him, he whacked it in the opposite direction – purely off natural instinct – without realizing he had just blocked Gryffindor’s Alicia Spinnet. She gave him a startled smile. Elsewhere, Flint took advantage of the Keeper’s distraction and scored five times in a row.  
  
“Why aren’t the teachers doing something?” Draco demanded, searching the staff box for their Head of House. It was just as chaotic as the pitch, as Professor Quirrell was knocked over the seats and into someone’s lap, and plumes of smoke started to erupt from behind Professor Snape. Several of the teachers were standing up in a panic, half of them trained on Harry’s rouge broom and the other on Snape’s robes. A small figure scurried away.  
  
“Did – did someone just set our Head of House on _fire_?” Pansy asked, her voice soft and completely disassociated from the words, as blue – and wildly familiar – flames licked the bottom of Snape’s robes. They were put out rather quickly and the two of them shared looks of insane disbelief. They barely noticed Harry climbing back on his broom.  
  
“I think someone just did.” Draco muttered, tiredly. “And I think I know who.”  
  
“Who?” Pansy asked, interestedly.  
  
Suddenly the crowd seemed to collectively hold their breath. Draco tried to find the source of their attention, but could only see Harry flying towards the grass with a hand clapped over his mouth. Draco grimaced.  
  
He crash landed onto the soft grass and coughed something into his palm.  
  
“I’ve caught the snitch!” Harry shouted happily, raising the golden ball in the air. There was silence for half a second, before the crowd parted into two forms of screams. It didn’t matter that were more Gryffindor supporters – the Slytherins made themselves heard as they stood and started racing towards the team. Another wave of colored sparks cascaded over the pitch.  
  
“Slytherin won!” Lee Jordon finished his commentary with an angered growl as he tried to argue with McGonagall that that shouldn’t count as catching.  
  
“He didn’t catch it – he swallowed it!” Flint was howling with laughter. “He literally – oh, I don’t even know what to say.”  
  
“Congrats, Harry!”   
  
“Harry! Harry! Harry!”  
  
Harry grinned uneasily at the approaching crowd. He was exhausted and just wanted to sit down with a cup of tea, while someone explained to him what just happened – and preferably, this would all take place in Professor Snape’s quarters. The celebratory cheers were contagious though, and even though he panicked momentarily when Adrian Pucey picked him up and perched him on his shoulder, Harry couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his chest.  
  
He scanned the crowd, quickly finding his friends’ faces – Draco’s pale and terrified, Blaise’s worried and wary, and Pansy’s muted concern.  
  
“Hey, put me down.” Harry requested, catching Adrian’s attention, who had gotten dragged into a conversation with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordon.  
  
“Good game, Harry.” Fred complimented him as Adrian set him down. George messed up his already scruffy and wind-blown hair.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“We would have won if it wasn’t for Flint.” Lee insisted, sourly.  
  
“Leave the kid alone.” Adrian defended, with a laugh. “Go bother Flint about it.”  
  
“I’d rather live mate, thanks.”  
  
Harry shook his head and walked over to his friends. “Hey, guys!”  
  
“What happened?!” Draco demanded, as he enveloped Harry in a tight hug. Harry didn’t feel the need to flinch when Draco grabbed him, already used to the blond throwing himself at Harry after distressing situations.  
  
“I don’t know.” Harry admitted, pulling back slightly. “I was sort of hoping someone would tell me what happened.”  
  
“Professor Snape might know.”  
  
“That’s what I was thinking about – ”  
  
“Harry!” Hermione’s voice cut through his sentence, and he turned to see her desperately pushing her way through the crowd. Her Gryffindor-themed hat seemed to be fighting to stay on her head, as dark curls waved frantically in the wind.  
  
“Yikes.” Pansy muttered under her breath, turning to give Draco an apologetic smile. “I’ll catch you later, Dray. Congrats on winning the game, Harry!” She seemed to just disappear into the moving crowd, completely out of sight by the time Hermione reached them.  
  
“Dray?” Harry asked, smirking a little.  
  
“Don’t even start.”  
  
Harry shook his head in amusement and redirected his attention. “What’s up, Mione?”  
  
“I need to talk to you – in private.” Draco narrowed his eyes and was about to argue when she sighed. “Like, not in front of the whole school private. Come on, we should go to Hagrid’s. You’re welcome to join us, Draco. Blaise.”  
  
The three followed Hermione towards Hagrid’s little hut, much to Draco’s displeasure. He eyed Fang warily and forced his lips into a smile when Hagrid put a platter of those wretched raisin scones in front of them.  
  
“’ere you go, Harry.” Hagrid nodded, giving Harry an impressively large mug of tea. “I reckon’ yeh need a good, strong cuppa after somethin’ li’ that.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He took a careful sip of the milky brew and smiled at the pleasant balance of honey and cream in the Earl Grey. “Thanks, Hagrid.” he amended, with more enthusiasm than was probably required.  
  
“No’ a problem.”  
  
“Alright, what did you want to talk about?” he asked Hermione, who had been impatiently stirring her tea with too much force. There were small spills of the herbal blend splattered around her cup.  
  
“No manners, I swear.” Draco muttered to himself.  
  
Hermione seemed to be taking the biggest breath she could manage, the pupils of her eyes dancing with determination and hesitation. “It was Snape.” she finally blurted out, glancing at everyone around the table in turn.  
  
“What was?”  
  
“Your broom, Harry.” she elaborated. “He jinxed it, okay? I saw him casting the spell. You need to maintain eye contact for it to work, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off you.”  
  
“It couldn’t be Snape.” Draco insisted, sitting even straighter.  
  
Harry felt his heart sink a little. If Snape had been watching him as closely as Hermione had said, wouldn’t he have done something to stop the jerking? Shaking the thought away, he reached for a rock cake, if just to give his fingers something to dig into. Perhaps Professor Snape _couldn’t_ do anything, and was just anxiously waiting for Harry to fall with a soft-landing spell at the ready.  
  
“I saw him, Draco.” Hermione defended her argument. “He was muttering something to himself, the other Gryffindors saw it too.”  
  
“It could have been anyone.” Draco growled. “There were plenty of students in the stands who didn’t want Slytherin to win.”  
  
Hagrid shook his head. “Brooms have some mighty good anti-jinx charms built into them. Only really powerful Dark Magic could ‘ave done somethin’ li’ that.”  
  
Hermione grinned triumphantly.  
  
“What are you saying?” Draco narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Everyone in Gryffindor thinks he’s evil, you know.” Hermione murmured.   
  
Draco’s fingers were resting on the handle of his wand, and Harry could feel his hands itching to take out his and offer second. He dig his nails into the rock cake instead.  
  
“Now, now.” Hagrid intercepted the argument. “Perfessor’ Snape would never do somethin’ like that to ‘arry. He’s a good man, alrigh’? Dumbledore trusts him.”  
  
“I trust him.” Harry grounded out.  
  
 “I saw him do it!”  
  
“Rubbish.” Hagrid waved the comment away, at the same time Blaise asked, “Do you have any other proof it was him? Who else saw?”  
  
Hermione paused, looking rather sheepish. “Ron Weasley.”  
  
“Wait, the _weasel_?” Draco laughed, taking a long sip of tea as Blaise broke bearing to offer a tiny, amused smile. “You want us to believe something that only you and Weasel saw?”  
  
“Harry was able to get back on his broom when I –”  
  
Silence.  
  
“When you what?” Draco asked, rather blankly. He took another measured sip of his tea, his face looking absolutely disinterested towards whatever Hermione had to say.  
  
“Hermione?” Harry asked.  
  
Still, there was silence.  
  
“You were the one who set his robes on fire, weren’t you?” Draco asked casually, setting his mug down with the utmost care. He perched his chin on one hand and stared at her.  
  
“You what?” Harry asked, in disbelief.  
  
“You know, I thought those flames seemed rather familiar.” Draco continued. “I was wondering where I had seen them before – it was from Harry of course – but he had mentioned learning the nifty little spell from someone.”  
  
“You set his robes on fire?!” Harry demanded, again.  
  
“It broke his concentration!” Hermione yelled. “You were able to get back on your broom right afterwards, weren’t you?”  
  
“He’s hurt!” Harry yelled back.  
  
Hagrid was sharing looks of concern with Blaise, who didn’t seem to want to be involved in the conversation at all.  
  
“What?” Hermione asked.  
  
“ _He’s hurt!_ ” Harry repeated. “That’s why he cancelled classes yesterday! Because he got hurt and he won’t tell me why, but he couldn’t even walk, Hermione! And you just set his robes on fire?! I was worried he wasn’t going to make it down to the pitch, but he did, and you made him move around when he didn’t have to!”  
  
All of a sudden, Harry didn’t care that he had been nearly bucked off his broom. He didn’t care that he didn’t know why it had happened and that whoever had done it was probably trying to kill him. All he wanted was to take Draco and make sure Professor Snape was doing okay.  
  
“How, how did he get hurt?  
  
Harry looked around anxiously. “I don’t know, okay? He was fine on Halloween when the troll was loose, but not after.”  
  
“Aha!” Hermione yelled.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You had told me you saw him walking towards the third-floor corridor that night?” Hermione pressed. “When you and Draco were hiding behind a statue?”  
  
“Yes?"  
  
“I bet it was the three-headed dog that hurt him!” Hermione boasted, rather proudly. “I bet he was using the distraction to get what it was guarding.”  
  
“Will you stop accusing Professor Snape of everything bad that happens in this school?” Draco asked, tiredly. “Even if it was the dog, that doesn’t mean Snape’s the one who jinxed the broom. I have my own theories.”  
  
“Wait, how do yeh know about Fluffy?” Hagrid interrupted the conversation, looking at the four rather angrily.  
  
“Fluffy?” Draco asked incredulously, all previous argument forgotten.  
  
“Yeah, he’s mine.” Hagrid barreled on. “Bought him off a Greek chap in a pub last year. Lent him to Dumbledore, actually, to guard the –”  
  
“Yes?” Harry asked eagerly, recalling his earlier theory of the dog guarding whatever had been collected from Gringotts. It seemed he had been right, after all.  
  
“I’m no’ saying anymore!” Hagrid insisted, crossing his arms and collecting their half-empty tea cups. “It’s things that don’t be concernin’ yourselves. Snape would never do something to hurt a studen’ whether tha’ be letting a troll loose or cursin’ a broom! You best forget about Fluffy and whatever it’s guarding. That’s between Dumbledore and ole Nicholas Flamel!”  
  
_Nicholas Flamel,_ Harry noted to himself.   
  
“He probably tried to kill Harry because Harry found out about Fluffy hurting him!”  
  
“That’s enough!” Draco stood up, grabbing Harry by the sleeve of his Quidditch robe. “Come on, we’re going to find Professor Snape and see if he’s doing fine. Then, we’re going to spend a quiet day away from Granger. Thank you for the tea, Hagrid. We’ll see you back in the common room, Blaise.”  
  
He stalked out of the hut, not releasing his grip on the green fabric until they had walked a considerable distance from the hut.  
  
“Draco.” Harry mumbled.  
  
Draco sighed, letting go. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“You don’t actually believe her, do you?” Draco asked, turning to face him. His gray eyes were searching, desperate for the answer lurking beneath green ones. “About Professor Snape being the one to jinx it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“I still want to know what happened, though.”  
  
“I think it was Quirrell.”  
  
“What?” Harry asked, alarmed.  
  
“Granger was right. You need to make eye contact to cast a spell – but when she lit Snape’s robes, I saw Quirrell tumble forward. That would be enough to break his concentration, right?”  
  
“Should we tell Snape?”  
  
“I don’t think so.” Draco paused. “It’s just a theory, and it’s pretty farfetched, accusing a teacher of using Dark magic to hurt a student, isn’t it?”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
They walked back towards the castle in pensive silence. Draco had his hands in his coat pockets, and was mindlessly kicking small stones that crossed his path. After a moment, Harry cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about Hermione.”  
  
“What?” Draco asked, distractedly. “It’s fine, really.”  
  
“Anything you want to talk about?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
They reached the castle and walked towards the staircase. As they passed the Great Hall, they noticed the red Gryffindor flag had been pulled down and was lying in a crumpled heap across two tables.  
  
As they walked past the Slytherin common room, Draco spoke up. “I don’t know why I keep trying to defend Snape to non-Slytherins, you know? They’re all going to see him as the evil, greasy-git, bat of the dungeons professor no one likes.”  
  
“You have to admit, he does like sort of bat-like with those robes.”  
  
Draco offered a watery smile. “Yeah.”  
  
“What are we going to tell him?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Well, more like, what are we going to ask him?” Harry clarified. “You don’t want to tell him our theories on Quirrell.”  
  
Draco tapped the tapestry and entered the dead-end hallway. “Just pretend to look scared, and follow my lead, I guess.”  
  
“Trust me, I don’t have to pretend.” Harry shivered, as he rapped on the stone wall. Professor Snape had explained that knocking worked on the wall, just as it did on a regular door. There was no answer, and Harry tried again.  
  
“Maybe he’s not here.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
As they left the secret corridor, they saw Professor Snape striding purposefully from the other end of the hallway. He was about to stop in front of the blank wall that made the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories, when he caught sight of Draco and Harry. His eyes seemed darker with rage, but the anger fell short against the worry that lined his face.  
  
“There you are.” Snape greeted, an almost detectable note of relief lingering in his tone. “I was about to come find you."  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Let’s go inside.” he suggested, leading the way back to his quarters. He made the doorway appear and ushered his two snakes inside. His green and silver scarf lay on the floor near the fireplace and a dark blue container of floo powder was laying on its side. “Tea?” he asked, as he dusted the glittering powder back into the container and picked up the scarf.  
  
He had returned to his chambers choking on anger, and had barely managed to down another pain-relieving potion before he stormed into the Headmaster’s office without warning. Dumbledore, of course, had been expecting him.  
  
“He could have been hurt!” Snape had thundered, as Dumbledore neatly unwrapped a bright yellow candy and sucked it thoughtfully.  
  
“You made sure he wasn't?” Albus asked, already knowing the answer. He offered the shiny little jar towards his Potion’s professor. “Lemon drop?”  
  
Snape growled.  
  
“I do have some candied strawberries you might like.” Dumbledore continued, rummaging through a drawer. “I don’t know what to tell you, Severus.”  
  
“It was Quirrell.”  
  
“You saw him do it?” Albus asked, setting a different jar of red berries on the desk. “Please, try one.” he urged. “I know you like strawberries.”  
  
Severus took one, and rolled it between his hands until the no-melting charm wore off and the stickiness started to seep between his fingers.  
  
“Oh, dear.” Dumbledore muttered, casting a cleaning spell.  
  
“Quirrell.” Snape repeated.  
  
Dumbledore finally gave up his pretense of playing ignorant. “Do you know what sort of spell-work he was casting?”  
  
“It wasn’t a spell I expected him to know.” Snape admitted warily. “I was counter-cursing at the same time, and it wasn’t enough to make Potter’s broom stop jerking. It was all I could do to even keep him on the broom.”  
  
“You did well.”  
  
“What are we going to do about him, Albus?”  
  
“Continue to keep an eye on him – I have no doubt he’s going to make another move for the stone, soon, but I still don’t know why. I need to figure that out before he gets suspicious of us.”  
  
“And Mr. Potter?"  
  
“Make sure he’s doing alright after this ordeal. Somehow, I think everything is connected and this isn’t the last time Harry Potter will be in the middle of it.”  
  
“Professor?” Harry’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. He found himself leaning against the counter, as the kettle steamed and whistled with hot water.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Potter?” he asked, rather briskly, as he poured the water over three cups fitted with teabags. He belatedly realized he never heard their response over whether they even _wanted_ tea or not; it had just become habit to prepare some these days.  
  
“Does your leg still hurt?”  
  
“No.” he lied, setting the tea tray on the table.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“How are you faring?” he asked, eyes raking over the paleness of both their faces, and the protective grip Draco had over Harry’s knee.  
  
Harry looked thoughtful. “Can you make bad things happen just by thinking about them?”  
  
“As a wizard, you are capable of wandless, wordless magic, if that’s what you mean.” Snape answered casually.  
  
“No, I mean like, well, I was worried I was going to fall off my broom in front of the whole school, right? And it almost happened. Did I make that happen?”  
  
Beside him, Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in approving disbelief.  
  
“I can assure you, you didn’t do that, Mr. Potter.” Snape answered stiffly. “While I can’t really tell you what happened, I can also assure that you were in no danger of being thrown off your broom.”  
  
“How do you know?"  
  
Snape shrugged listlessly, but Harry could see the self-pleased smirk clouding the previous looks of irritation and muted fear. “I’ve just come back from the Headmaster’s office, to make sure similar things don’t happen in the future.” he deflected.  
  
“Thanks.” Harry smiled. He thought about Hermione’s words; the insistence that he was muttering a spell under his breath. Perhaps it was worry, like Draco said, or perhaps it was a _counter_ -spell.  
  
“Drink your tea.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“There was no doubt in my mind, you know.” Professor Snape began, dipping a sugared biscuit into his tea and watching it soak up the amber brew. “I allowed a first year onto the team, and this was a fairly satisfying start.”  
  
Harry grinned, suddenly remembering the game. Snape had been keeping him safe, even if it hadn’t seemed like enough during the wild and terrifying moment. It was over, he was safe, Professor Snape was okay, and now, now he could celebrate.  
  
“Thanks!”  
  
He let out a stifled laugh as the professor lifted up his biscuit and seemed to give it a look of disdain as the other half remained in the cup. It didn’t matter what anyone else said about their Head of House, he knew the real Professor Snape.  
  
He trusted him.


	12. Sick.

“You should apologize to Hermione.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Hermione.” Harry emphasized, as he stifled a yawn. “You know she tried to apologize to you during Transfiguration, and you completely blew her off.”  
  
“I’m aware of that.”  
  
“I know she said some awful things about Professor Snape, but she doesn’t know him like we do.” Harry insisted, gathering his ink and quill and following Draco out of the History of Magic classroom. “She said she was sorry for hurting your feelings.”  
  
“I don’t have to apologize to her.” Draco muttered, leading the way towards the Great Hall. Blaise had already left with Theo, when Harry decided to take a lifetime and a half to gather his school supplies off his desk.  
  
“Fine, but at least accept her apology.” Harry pleaded. “I really think you would like her, if you gave her a chance. I like both of you, and I don’t want two of my friends to hate each other.”  
  
“Harry.” Draco sighed.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
It seemed the stars were in Harry’s favor that morning, as they spotted Hermione Granger waiting just outside the wooden doors to the Great Hall. Harry gave her a friendly wave, and Hermione returned it with cautious eyes and a worried bite of her lip.  
  
“Who are you waiting for, Mione?” Harry asked.  
  
“Andrew.”  
  
“The Gryffindor Seeker?” Draco asked, mild interest coloring his tone. He had paid close attention to him during the game, and was somewhat pleased with his abilities.  
  
“Yeah.” Hermione smiled hesitantly. “He’s actually really nice to me – and smart. His great uncle is a magizoologist, you know. He wrote the textbook being used in Care of Magical Creatures, and he was telling me stories of his uncle’s expeditions in America.”  
  
“That’s nice.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Anyway, we should get to our table.” Draco decided, as he spotted Andrew Kirke descending the steps from Gryffindor Tower. “Blaise is probably wondering why we’re taking so long.”  
  
Harry didn’t make an effort to move.  
  
“Fine.” Draco grumbled. “Hermione, I accept your earlier apology and I’m sorry for ignoring you this past week. Or something like that.”  
  
Hermione smiled, and the wariness seemed to dissipate from her eyes. “Thank you, and I really am sorry for what I said. I just got carried away. I was worried about Harry, which I’m sure is something you can understand.”  
  
“That’s enough.” Draco muttered. “Let’s go get lunch.”  
  
They left Hermione to her waiting and found Blaise, who was locked in conversation with Theo. The table was littered with baskets of fresh bread and jars butter, different kinds of soup, roasted chicken, and blueberry pastries.  
  
“It took you long enough.” Blaise mentioned, around a mouthful of bread.  
  
“You can blame Harry for that.”  
  
Harry shrugged in response, and held his head in his hands as another yawn escaped him. “Draco and Hermione made up, at least.”  
  
Blaise raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I did not make up with her.” Draco insisted, helping himself to a bowl of butternut squash soup. “I just appeased Harry.”  
  
“He made up with her.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Harry poured himself a cup of apple cider and sipped it slowly. He had a headache forming and his stomach was churning. He stole a glance at the staff table to see if Professor Quirrell was up there, but found it empty save for Professor Kettleburn and the Muggle Studies teacher.  
  
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Draco asked, as he coated a piece of bread with butter.   
  
“I’m not hungry, really.” Harry shrugged.  
  
“If you insist.”  
  
Harry didn’t contribute to the conversation much, and Draco was forced to listen to Pansy’s tirade over a gossip column in Witch Weekly instead. He continued to watch the doors, as if waiting for someone in particular to walk through them.  
  
By the time lunch was over and it was time for their Defense class, Harry had shifted his position about two times in total.  
  
“Are you feeling alright?” Draco asked him, as they walked upstairs.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just tired.”  
  
“You had Quidditch practice last night, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry shook his head, tugging at the weight that was his book bag. “Every Wednesday until January. Flint doesn’t want us to get out of shape, but he said there wasn’t any point in thrice weekly practices until the next game was a month away.”  
  
“February?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts was the same as always. Professor Quirrell would pace the length of the classroom as he stuttered his way through another lesson, tightly holding on to the wreath of garlic bulbs that wrapped around his neck.  
  
If you could consider his constant stutter as normal, then he seemed absolutely on edge today. He jumped when a student dropped their quill and took more house points than usual. He seemed distant and angry and nervous, and it was getting impossibly difficult to make out any words behind that stutter.  
  
“Did he say chapter two or twenty two?” Harry whispered.  
  
“I thought he said twelve.” Draco admitted, rifling through the book.  
  
There was a list of questions on the board, and it took the pair a rather long ten minutes to realize they were supposed to be reading from page twenty-two. It was about the basic first aid pertaining magical creatures.  
  
Draco grimaced.  
  
“You can’t stop a werewolf bite?"  
  
“I don’t think I ever want a vampire to bite me.” Harry frowned. “I didn’t even know vampires were real. I thought Professor Quirrell was just mad.”  
  
The lesson became more bearable when Quirrell had stopped talking and was silently perched on the edge of his desk, watching everyone with a frown.  
  
“He’s giving me the creeps.” Draco muttered.  
  
Harry didn’t reply, as he was biting his lower lip and had a hand firmly pressed against his forehead, in an effort to stop the constant stream of pain.  
  
“Are you doing alright?"  
  
“No.” Harry mumbled, trying to read the text.  
  
“Do you need to get out of the class?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Draco offered a sigh and his parchment to copy. The rest of the class passed rather quickly, with Draco doing the actual work and Harry pretending to do it.  
  
“You owe me.” Draco mentioned, as the bell chimed.  
  
“I’ll get Blaise to give up his History notes.” Harry promised. “Somehow.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
Unfortunately, it was double Defense day, and the Slytherins only had a fifteen minute break before they were expected to return to their least favorite class.  
  
“It’s worse than usual today.” Harry frowned, indicating his headache; it usually went away as soon as they left the classroom.  
  
“Do you want to see Madame Pomfrey?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Harry.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
By the time their second Defense lesson was over, Harry looked worse for wear. They were the last to leave the classroom again, and Harry was almost staggering his weight against Draco.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
He leaned against the wall for a moment, hoping it would pass. His breaths were coming out in short, ragged spurts and he seemed a little pale, but he was fine. I’m just tired, he insisted. It’s just a bad day, he carried on. I’ll be fine, he promised. It’s just Quirrell, he decided.  
  
“Let’s go to the common room.” Harry opened his eyes, straightening up. “I want to take a nap before dinner.”  
  
“That sounds like a good idea.”  
  
They had reached the potions corridor when Harry stopped short. He was staring ahead, eyes unfocused.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
He collapsed, his knees crashing against the stone floor. Draco barely caught the rest of him, lowering him to the ground with as much care as he could.  
  
“Professor Snape!” Draco yelled out, hoping their Head of House was in his classroom or his office or right behind them. “Someone!”  
  
“Draco.” Harry mumbled, coming to. “Please, shut up.”  
  
“Harry!"  
  
“I’m fine, you swot.” Harry insisted, sitting up against the wave of dizziness that threatened to take him over again. “I just tripped.”  
  
“You didn’t trip, Harry.” Draco said, tersely.  
  
“I’m fine. Defense was worse than usual today and I didn’t eat lunch, okay? I had Quidditch practice last night and then we had Astronomy. I didn’t sleep enough. I’m fine.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound like fine.”  
  
“Drop it, Draco.”  
  
“Fine, but you’re eating dinner.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
There was a pause, as Harry regained his bearings and stood back up. Draco hovered with his hands out, in case Harry decided to trip again. “We should tell Professor Snape about this. About Quirrell.”  
  
“You were the one who said you didn’t want to.”  
  
“About jinxing your broom.” Draco reminded him, exasperatedly. “If he’s making you collapse after classes, then something is up and Snape deserves to know about it.”  
  
“I did not collapse.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Dinner was an irritating affair. If Draco was hovering earlier, then he might as well have been sitting on Harry’s lap and force-feeding him. Blaise raised an eyebrow curiously at the two, but decided it wasn’t worth an explanation. The two were strange enough as it was; besides, it wasn’t like Harry was complaining.  
  
By the time they had finished their homework in the common room, Harry wasn’t speaking much. He did seem rather tired, so Draco didn’t push it. Instead, he urged Harry to shower and go to bed early, on the threat that he would tell Professor Snape about Harry’s earlier episode.  
  
“It wasn’t an episode.” Harry grumbled, climbing the stairs to their dorm.  
  
“What’s going on?” Blaise cornered Draco, once Harry had shut himself inside the bathroom with his pajamas.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Blaise raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Is that your only method of communication?” Draco asked, as he traded his school jumper and trousers for pajamas. “Eyebrow raising? Who are you, Professor Snape?”  
  
“Draco.”  
  
“He wasn’t feeling well earlier and Quirrell’s class was worse for him than usual.”  
  
“Are you ever going to tell Professor Snape?” Blaise asked. “Or do I have to?”  
  
“We will, eventually.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“What’s in it for you, anyway?” Draco asked, climbing into bed with some clean parchment and his favorite eagle feather quill. “If you tell him, he’ll only be mad you didn’t tell him earlier. You might as well play ignorant here.”  
  
“It might have slipped your notice and all, but I actually care about Harry.” Blaise muttered, rifling through his trunk for something. “It’s worth having Snape yell at me.”  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“Considering you only seem to have Harry under Draco-watch, I’m going downstairs to play Exploding Snap with everyone else.” he waved the blue hexagonal-shaped box in the air. “You’re welcome to join us, once your charge is asleep.”  
  
Draco threw a pillow at him.  
  
When Blaise left, he eyed the new clock his mother had finally sent- an ornate little thing made from carved oak and scrubbed gold - approvingly, which hovered against the wall with a temporary sticking charm, and went to pen his letter.

\--  
  
“Harry.” Draco murmured sleepily, standing beside the thrashing boy’s bed in the still darkness. “Harry, wake up.”  
  
It was well after midnight, and streams of moonlight were filtering through the charmed windows of their dorm room. The floorboards were cool under bare feet, the furniture casting shadows across the walls.  
  
The unconscious boy moaned in his sleep, turning over once more. He gripped his quilt tightly, pulling it towards his chin. He didn’t respond to his friend’s voice and with a sigh, Draco returned to bed.  
  
It was silent once more; the raven-haired boy’s whimpering hushed. In the hallway a floorboard creaked as a different student crept past, then there was nothing. Draco wrapped his own blanket around his shoulders and watched the faint silhouette of his friend’s body as sleep overcame him once more.  
  
It was short lived.  
  
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, how much longer he had managed to sleep, before he was awakened by the whimpering and thrashing again. Draco watched with half-closed eyes, debating if he should get up.  
  
“Please, Uncle Vernon.” Harry mumbled, sleepiness mingling with fear. “I didn’t mean to break it, it was an accident.” He thrashed in his bed, sounds of distress escaping from his lips. “Please don’t hurt me.”  
  
Draco sat up, listening.  
  
“Don’t hurt me.” Harry begged, his voice a desperate whisper.  
  
The blond decided that was enough, and got out of bed. He padded towards his friend’s side, shaking his shoulders lightly. “Harry, wake up.”  
  
“Don’t touch me!” Harry shouted half-heartedly, his eyes still closed.  
  
“It’s just a dream.” Draco promised, shaking him harder. “Come on, you have to wake up now. You’re not letting me sleep.”  
  
Harry opened his eyes, taking in the dark and blurred surroundings with an alarmed expression. The room was freezing and his throat felt tight. The room seemed to have been emptied of oxygen and he sat up in a panic. He started to gasp desperately for air, his lungs burning.  
  
“Harry, you have to breathe.” came a tired voice.  
  
“Draco?” he forced out, grounding himself with the familiar voice. He took a few deep breaths. “Draco, what are you doing up?”  
  
“You had a nightmare.” the blond answered him, sitting down on the edge of Harry’s bed. The springs creaked beneath the added weight, settling.  
  
“I’m okay.”  
  
Draco sighed, hearing the blatant anxiety in his voice. He laid down beside his friend, pulling the blanket over the both of them. “Why was Uncle Vernon trying to hurt you?” he asked, feeling bold in the darkness.  
  
He felt Harry stiffen. “Wh-what?”  
  
“You were talking in your sleep.” Draco explained, leaning into Harry. “That’s what your nightmare was about, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The voice was soft. Defeated.  
  
“You can tell me.”  
  
“It’s nothing.” Harry promised him, curling into Draco. He was already falling asleep. Draco, however, kept replaying Harry’s anguished cries in his head. He knew muggles could be the worst sort of humans, but to hurt a kid? He felt angry and helpless.  
  
He knew those muggles Harry grew up with weren’t pleasant; it was there in the ways Harry seemed afraid of everyone and everything. The way he would flinch, if you got too close. The way he would panic, if he made a mistake. He just never knew how bad.  
  
He should have known.  
  
Muggles.  
  
He could tell his father about it. His father always made problems go away. He could tell Professor Snape about it. Professor Snape cared about them. He could tell both.  
  
Draco grinned, imagining the wrath of both their Head of House and his Father coming together to fix this. Those muggles wouldn’t dare hurt Harry ever again. He stayed awake, wondering what sort of things they did to him.  
  
He’d read some awful things, in muggle newspapers. His father said it was important to keep up with the whole world, not just their world. He’d leafed through the unmoving print before, horrified at the stories written.  
  
The things they did to their own children. His stomach churned, as he imagined those sorts of things happening to Harry. Draco scooted closer, feeling protective of his shaking friend.  
  
“Merlin, you’re hot.” he complained, pushing him back. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when he felt the clammy skin. “And you’re sweating.”  
  
He kicked the blankets off them, only to have the shaking intensify as Harry began to shiver in his sleep.  
  
“What is wrong with you?” Draco muttered exasperatedly, sitting up. He felt Harry’s wand underneath the pillow and cast a Lumos. It didn’t work the first time, and Draco shook it in frustration, trying again.  
  
It worked that time, and the light bounced off the curtains, making the shadows dance around the room. Harry’s face was drawn and pale, his dark hair sticking limply to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, his lips dry and parted.  
  
“Harry?” Draco asked, watching as Harry pulled the blanket to his chin once more, still sleeping. “Oh, bother.”  
  
He pointed the wand-light towards Blaise’s bed, where the emerald green curtains were drawn shut. “Blaise.” he called out, the decibel low. “Blaise.”  
  
It didn’t take long before the curtains were being lazily pulled back, as the Lightest Sleeper in the World woke up. “Draco?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing in Harry’s bed? Did he have a nightmare again?”  
  
“He did.”  
  
“Then why are you waking me?” he asked, letting the curtain fall back down. “You’re already in bed with him; you don’t need me.”  
  
“Just come here.” Draco demanded, impatiently.  
  
There was a muffled sigh, and then Blaise got out of bed. He was wearing a matching pajama set, the top two buttons undone. “What?”  
  
Draco returned the light to Harry, highlighting the shivering boy. “I think he’s sick or something.”  
  
Blaise frowned, scrutinizing his small friend. He leaned in, pressing a hand against the other’s forehead and the frown deepened.  “I think you’re right.”  
  
“Well?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Blaise admitted, making out the numbers of the clock in the pale light. “It’s nearly three in the morning. I don’t want to wake anyone up.”  
  
“Neither do I.”  
  
“Just give him water and we’ll keep an eye on him.” Blaise decided, creeping back towards his bed. “We can take him to the infirmary in the morning.”  
  
“Where are you going?” Draco asked, as Blaise pulled the curtains aside and climbed back into bed.  
  
“We have Potions tomorrow morning.” the other reminded him. “I need to sleep, otherwise my magic suffers.”  
  
“What about me?” Draco sputtered out.  
  
“Someone has to take care of Harry.” came the muffled response. “You got up first, meaning you automatically volunteered yourself. Besides, maybe you’ll get lucky and get sick too. Then you won’t have to worry about class.”  
  
“Twat.”  
  
“Goodnight, Draco.”  
  
Draco sighed, turning off the light. He laid back down, trying to avoid touching Harry’s clammy body. “Looks like it’s just me and you.”  
  
Despite the heat radiating off the boy, the bed was comfortable, and soon enough, Draco fell into a restless sleep. He woke up burning, a heavy weight pressed against his chest. Opening his eyes, he found Harry had slung himself over Draco in his sleep.  
  
“Get off.” Draco groaned, pushing him off. “Why didn’t I just go back to my own bed? You weren’t dying in your sleep.”  
  
Harry mumbled incoherently in response.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Water.” he croaked out pathetically.  
  
“Oh, right, I was supposed to give you that.” Draco remembered, getting out of bed. He treaded to the bathroom, where he filled a water glass and brought it back. The clock was reading five now.  
  
“Alright, I’ve gotten two hours of sleep.” he told a half-conscious Harry. “Five if you count the three before your nightmare.” he helped Harry sit up, holding the water glass to his lips. "If you let me go back to sleep, I can fit in another two before breakfast.”  
  
Harry whimpered in response, pushing the glass away after a tentative sip and laying back down. He curled into Draco, drifting back to sleep.  
  
“Merlin.” Draco sighed, trying to get him off. “You’re really hot, please.” It was a futile attempt, as Harry was grasping Draco’s pajamas, refusing to let go. “Harry!”  
  
“He’ll hurt me.” Harry begged, tossing.  
  
“I won’t let him.” Draco promised, giving in. He let Harry hold onto him, the hot skin making him uncomfortable. He petted his friend’s arm awkwardly, resigning himself to a sleepless night.  
  
The light in the room shifted slowly, as the sun began to rise. The charmed window matched the outside and the night soon vanished into an overcast sky. Draco was staring at the fold of the canopy; tired and uncomfortable.  
  
Beside him, Harry seemed worse in daylight than he had in wand light. Curfew had ended when the clock struck five, and Draco contemplated getting Professor Snape. The problem was it was too early for him to be in his office, and he wasn’t particularly fond of having to be the one to wake him up when it clearly wasn't an emergency.   
  
The silence of the room was eventually broken by the musical tinkling of the alarms. It was seven now and Hogwarts was beginning to awaken. Breakfast would begin soon, followed by class, and Draco was beginning to feel the toll of the night.  
  
“How’s he doing?” Blaise asked, drawing his curtains back. He walked to Harry’s bedside and studied them both. “You look awful.”  
  
“Yes, well, I didn’t sleep.” Draco retorted.  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
“Draco, why are you in my bed?” Harry’s sleep-muffled voice spoke up. He was sitting up, combing fingers through untamable black hair.  
  
“You had a nightmare.”  
  
Harry blushed.  
  
“Are you feeling alright, Harry?” Blaise asked, giving him an appraising look.  
  
Of course.” Harry mumbled, looking down. He felt tired and achy, and like his head was full of wool, but just because you didn’t feel well didn’t mean you were excused from your day. Aunt Petunia never cared when Harry was sick. She would still yell and order that he make breakfast.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Absolutely.” Harry promised, getting up. He gripped the bedpost against the fresh wave of dizziness and staggered into the bathroom.  
  
He studied his reflection, grimacing.  
  
He sure looked awful. He splashed cold water on his burning skin and brushed his hair, and offered himself a pleased smile when he noticed it helped. He had to go to class today, otherwise everyone would yell at him for being lazy and useless.  
  
He wasn’t lazy or useless.  
  
Harry didn’t have patience for his uniform today. The buttons on his white shirt didn’t match up and his tie was a knotted mess. He idly sat by as Draco fussed over the mistakes and gladly let him fix them. His robe felt too heavy, but it was keeping him warm, so he trudged into the Great Hall behind everyone else, where he choked down two pieces of toast and drank tea until his throat stopped feeling scratched up.  
  
Potions was a nightmare.  
  
It hadn’t taken Harry very long to realize he didn’t have an affinity for Potions. He worked hard to ensure his completed phials were acceptable, but it didn’t come naturally to him like it did for Professor Snape or Draco, for that matter. There were always mistakes, but at least Snape didn’t humiliate him in front of class like he did Neville Longbottom.  
  
Instead, Professor Snape would keep him after class and they would go over the day’s work together, finding his mistakes and Harry would turn in a short essay to receive full credit. It had become routine by now, and Harry enjoyed the extra lessons with his Head of House. He felt that if Snape spoke to all of his students like he did to Harry, he would probably be everyone’s favorite teacher at Hogwarts.  
  
Harry stifled a laugh at the thought.  
  
“Mr. Potter, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Professor Snape asked, looking annoyed at the interruption.  
  
Favorite students or not, he didn’t appreciate disruptions from anyone.  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
Snape turned back to the board, where he was explaining the properties of today’s potion ingredients – a Forgetfulness Potion. “Be sure to take careful notes over this particular potion,” Snape was saying, “as it might turn up in your final exam.”  
  
Hermione scribbled furiously.  
  
Harry looked at his own parchment, where the words seemed to be swirling in front of him. He didn’t want to write down notes. He wanted to sleep. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself; blast the stupid dungeons and their unreasonable temperatures.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You should really go see Madame Pomfrey.” Draco urged, looking at him worriedly from the corner of his eye.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
During their fifteen minute break before the practical portion of Double Potions, Draco dragged Harry to get water, who was looking absolutely flushed now. The cold water helped stop the cough that threatened to overtake him.  
  
“If you don’t ask Snape if you can go to the infirmary, I will tell him myself.”  
  
“Draco, I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re shaking.”  
  
“It’s cold.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and followed Harry back to the classroom. They had just reached the doorway, when Harry stopped suddenly. It was just like yesterday, when the floor seemed to have been pulled from beneath him and the walls were switching places.  
  
“Harry!” Draco shouted, trying to hold onto his friend before he fell.  
  
His knees still crashed against the ground and Draco cursed. They were going to be decently bruised for a week. Draco stole a glance at the classroom and found it only contained a handful of students, all who were staring at them in different degrees of interest and concern.  
  
“Come on, get up.” Draco urged.  
  
He was struggling to get Harry to his seat, when Professor Snape’s voice called out from behind him. “I believe you’re going the wrong way for the infirmary, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
Professor Snape was standing just outside the doorway, with his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised, but his eyes were swimming with just the slightest bit of concern.  
  
“I’m aware of that, sir.” Draco grumbled. “I don’t think I can get him all the way there.”  
  
Snape sighed, and sought out Blaise. “Mr. Zabini, I’m trusting you to write down the names of anyone who walks into class after the bell chimes, and anyone who doesn’t immediately start on their potion.” He extended a hand out towards Harry. “Come with me, Mr. Potter.”  
  
With a careful hand on his back, Professor Snape led him upstairs to the infirmary. They had to stop twice so Harry could catch his breath. He was very warm and clammy, and Snape had to shake his head at the lack of self-care.  
  
“You can return to class, Draco.” Snape commented, as they reached the infirmary and helped Harry lay down in one of the starched cots. “I’ll be down there soon.”  
  
Draco hesitated, but finally left, with a promise that he would return during lunch.  
  
Professor Snape went to Poppy’s office and knocked on her door. She had been updating student records and picking at an almond croissant, a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, when the knock startled her.  
  
“Severus!” she bustled, closing the ledger. “What are you doing here? Did a cauldron explode?”  
  
“Not this time, Poppy.” he assured. “It seems Mr. Potter has taken ill.”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
Severus stood aside, while Madame Pomfrey ran a series of diagnostic spells over her charge. She took his pulse and felt his forehead, and finally returned to the boy’s Head of House with a piece of printed parchment.  
  
“He’s definitely running a fever.” Madame Pomfrey tutted, going over the list. “It’s nothing too serious – just a few days of bedrest and some potions.”  
  
“He fainted during class.”  
  
Her eyes widened for a moment, then she took a moment to glare at Severus. “He’s also malnourished, you know. It’s no wonder it’s hitting him so hard – his body doesn’t have the strength to handle this, the poor boy.”  
  
“I’m not poor.” Harry mumbled. “I’m rich. I have stacks of gold in my vaults.”  
  
“That would be the fever speaking.”  
  
“Technically speaking, he does have the Potter fortune.” Severus commented, staring at his snake with an impassive look.  
  
"I need you to keep an eye on him during meals, Severus." Poppy urged, rolling up the parchment.  
  
"I already do."  
  
"Have you noticed any improvement to his weight then?"  
  
"A fair amount."  
  
When Poppy went to look for a potion from her stores, he went to stand beside Harry. He raked sweat-soaked hair off the boy’s forehead and shook his head. “You should have said you were feeling ill, instead of making yourself attend class, child.”  
  
“Aunt Petunia won’t let me.”  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Petunia isn’t here, Harry.”  
  
“She won’t let me.” Harry thrashed. “I’ll get in trouble if I don’t go to class. She’ll tell Uncle Vernon if I don’t. He’ll hit me.”  
  
Severus felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle. “I will not allow such a thing to happen to you, Mr. Potter. You belong in my house now, and I will make sure you are safe."  
  
Harry offered a weary smile. “Thanks, ‘fessor.”  
  
Severus sighed, removing his hand from the boy’s forehead as the mediwitch returned with a fever reducer and a nutrition potion.  
  
“These will help you, okay?” she told Harry, as Snape helped him sit up. He grimaced at the taste of both, but gratefully gulped down the water offered to him.  
  
“You should return to your classes, Severus.” Poppy admonished, setting the empty phials aside. “Who know what kind of trouble your students will get into without someone keeping vigil over them?”  
  
He complied and returned downstairs. He threw himself into the lesson, in order to forget about the words Harry had spoken. He had always known of course, but it was different having evidence-backed theories and having the student actually come out and say it. There was a part of him that wanted to pay the Dursley's a visit, but he knew Dumbledore would never agree.  
  
Blasted old man.  
  
Harry was in the infirmary until Sunday afternoon. He had slept most of the weekend, but that didn’t stop Draco from trying to see him all day. Madame Pomfrey had employed both Blaise and Professor Snape to keep him occupied and out of the way.  
  
“He needs to sleep.” she complained through fire-call, and with a sigh, Severus requested Draco’s help in brewing a new series of potions for the infirmary. It was something the Malfoy heir realized he enjoyed.  
  
“I think I’d want to do something like this.”  
  
“Distract disobedient children?” Professor Snape asked, with a playful sneer.  
  
“No, brew potions for people.”  
  
“Really, now?”  
  
“It’s not really something a Malfoy would do, is it?” Draco asked, with a frown.  
  
“Whatever you decide to do, is exactly what a Malfoy would do.”  
  
Draco smiled at that.  
  
The door to the potions lab opened and a freshly-showered Harry stepped through. He was wearing the jumper Draco had given him and was clinging to his drawing pad.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Professor Snape asked, eyeing his tired face warily.  
  
“Madame Pomfrey said I could go.”  
  
“Madame Pomfrey said you could return to your own bed.”  
  
“Oh, please?” Harry begged. “I’ll just sit at one of the desks and draw. I’m so tired of lying in bed and being by myself.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Very well.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Harry uncapped the muggle pen and smiled at the scene in front of him. It was rather funny to see Professor Snape with his hair pulled back and Draco wearing an apron that was much too big for him.   
  
Rather than saying anything that would make Draco remove his apron in embarrassment, he took his pen and started sketching his two favorite people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are pretty rad.  
> unnecessary filler chapter because i really wanted to write this and didn't want to post it as a one shot.


	13. Winter Break.

The rest of November seemed to blow away with the Scottish winds, as they whipped the hillsides and stripped the trees bare. It turned the pages on all the textbooks Hermione could gather, as she and Harry searched endlessly for a man named Nicholas Flamel.  
  
December brought a chill that caused the students to shake, as the cold seeped through their robes and into their bones. It brought longer nights that faded slowly into the dull gray of morning and sparkling frost that clung onto dying grass. It brought Professor Quirrell’s late night tirades of pacing and murmuring to himself. It brought a different round of books and still no progress.  
  
December also brought the first snow.  
  
It wasn’t very much, in terms of fort-building and angel-making, but it was enough to cause a stir of excitement when the first flakes began to fall.  
  
“I absolutely love the snow.” Pansy laughed, as the icy bits stuck to her new woolen hat. It had been an early Christmas present from her mother, and she wore it everywhere, proudly telling anyone who would listen that burgundy was very in.  
  
“I don’t.” Theo grumbled, as he took off his glasses to wipe off the fogged lenses.  
  
“I’ve never gotten to play in the snow before.” Harry admitted wistfully, as he watched the flurries dance in the wind before melting as soon as they touched the ground. He hoped it stuck.  
  
“You’re not missing much.” Draco promised, as he tightened his winter cloak and watched his breath come out in silver puffs. “It makes your fingers numb and your clothes very wet.”  
  
“Still.”  
  
The second week of December brought a notice on the board and a stack of owl-order catalogues in the common room. The fires were stroked and fed until they filled the grate with hot flames and white ash, and kept the common room warm for once.  
  
“What’s that?” Harry asked, as he spotted a group of Slytherins crowding around the bulletin board. They didn’t seem to give it more than a passing glance, before they continued on their way to the Great Hall.  
  
“It’s a sign-up sheet.” a fourth-year offered, as she took a quill and wrote down her name. She was the only one who had, so far. “I’m Evelyn, by the way. Evelyn Solak – I don’t believe we’ve met.”  
  
“Harry Potter.”  
  
“I know.” she smiled widely. She was dark-skinned with big eyes, and flecks of gold in her hair.  
  
“Any student electing to stay at Hogwarts during the holiday break, should…” Harry trailed off, feeling his heart give a little flutter. Draco had mentioned going home for Christmas and he had felt the dread weighing him down since. He had fallen in love with Hogwarts and the bustling hallways and the friends he had made. He didn’t want to go back to the Dursleys. But perhaps… “You mean, I can stay?”  
  
“Yeah.” Evelyn nodded, offering Harry her quill. It was a festive little thing, candy cane-striped and trimmed with green ribbon. She laughed at the look on Harry’s face and shrugged impassively. “I got it when we went to Hogsmeade last weekend. I don't even celebrate Christmas, but I just fell in love with it.   
  
Harry took it and penned his name.  
  
As the rest of the week passed, no one else wrote their name on the board. Draco offered the guest room at Malfoy Manor, but when he wrote home for permission, Lucius Malfoy wrote back with a “ _Perhaps next year, Draco.”  
  
_ “I’ll be okay.” Harry insisted, when the letter had arrived.  
  
“I don’t want you to spend Christmas by yourself.” Draco frowned. “Perhaps I can convince Mother. Or just sneak you in.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Harry looked up from the catalogue he was leafing through. He needed a break from all the textbook-searching. It seemed Flamel just didn’t exist, but his friends definitely did, and Harry needed to order Christmas gifts.  
  
Draco sighed.  
  
The third week of December brought end-of-term exams and the promise of holiday homework. It brought shrieking winds and a heavier snow that buried the grass and froze over the lake. It brought the tapping of fingers and stifled giggles until the bell _finally_ chimed on a Wednesday afternoon and Professor Sprout’s class ran into the cold.  
  
“I’m not dressed for this.” Draco complained, as the drifts of snow and ice clung onto the hem of his trousers and melted into his socks.  
  
“This is so cool!” Harry yelled, as he leaned down and picked up a handful of freshly fallen snow. He formed it into a ball and tossed it in the air, shouting incoherently when it fell back down and landed on top of his head.  
  
“That’s not how you throw it, mate!”  
  
“Yeah! You throw it at someone –”  
  
“Like this!”  
  
Harry laughed, as another snowball hit the back of his head and he turned to see the Weasley twins smirking back at him. They were wearing mismatched gloves and knitted hats, and seemed to have an entire arsenal of snowballs ready to go.  
  
He threw one back.  
  
Despite the chill in the air and the cold of the snow, the fight lasted well into the afternoon. Everyone was trudging around in wet clothes, with flushed faces and numb fingers. Blaise turned out to be an excellent shot, and could almost guarantee to hit every target in the face.  
  
Even Draco indulged in the game, when Dean Thomas called out loudly to his friends, “What a shame it must be, to not have family who loves you to go home to for Christmas.” and gave a sneer in Harry’s direction. Seamus Finnegan laughed, but Ron Weasley did not, and Draco Malfoy smashed a handful of ice down the back of Thomas’ cloak.  
  
Then Draco was being pelted in the face by snowballs, until Andrew Kirke showed up with Hermione and forced his housemates into the ground for a mouthful of snow with a laugh.  
  
“That’ll show you!” he dusted his hands.  
  
But the Gryffindor boys retaliated and Andrew used Draco for cover, and they both slipped on ice and fell to the ground.  
  
“You little twat!” Draco yelled, but they both had snow sticking to their eyebrows and it was enough to break Draco’s scowl.  
  
When it had gotten too cold and their fingers were too stiff to form any more snowballs, they shivered their way back to the castle, bringing in bits of melting snow. They changed their wet clothes for dry ones and went to the Great Hall.  
  
The house elves had heard about The Great Snowball Fight, as it had been dubbed, and were offering hot chocolate and biscuits at the tables. Harry piled his mug with mini marshmallows and whipped cream and sat against the wall with Draco, a plate of gingerbread between them.  
  
“I love Hogwarts.”  
  
Draco smiled back, his upper lip coated in a layer of cream.  
  
“Are you really going to stay here by yourself?” he asked, for what seemed like the tenth time that month.  
  
“Yeah."  
  
“You can still come on the train with me.” Draco offered, with a playful smirk. “The Manor is so big, you could walk around for days without running into anyone.”  
  
“Professor Snape knows I’m staying here.” Harry pointed out, picking up a chocolate-soaked marshmallow and dropping it into his mouth. “He would probably tell your parents.”  
  
Draco grimaced. “Swallow _before_ you speak.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“You’re right, though.” Draco frowned, breaking off a piece of iced gingerbread and chewing it thoughtfully. “You’ll have to come next year though. The Manor is absolutely beautiful during the holidays – we have a Christmas Ball every year.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“This is the first year I’ll be old enough to attend.” Draco admitted.  
  
They were interrupted by a frustrated Hermione Granger, who still couldn’t find anything on Nicholas Flamel. “I’ve looked in every book I can think of!”  
  
Harry frowned. They were getting nowhere.  
  
“I saw Professor Quirrell this morning, on my way to the library. He seemed half-frozen to death, and covered in snow.”  
  
“Do you think he was out all night?”  
  
“Is he still mumbling to himself?” Harry asked.  
  
Hermione grimaced. “And pacing and cursing and stuttering.”  
  
“He’s gone mad.” Draco sniffed. “I’m not sure why Dumbledore is letting him stay. He hasn’t taught a solid class in a month, and honestly, he’s become quite a fright.”  
  
“People are still more afraid of Snape.” Hermione shrugged and Harry’s frown deepened.  
  
Thursday brought nets of twinkling lights cascading down the castle walls and miles of decorated garland wrapped around the banisters. It also brought Hagrid to the castle, as he carried in evergreens dusted with frost.  
  
“Alright there, ‘arry?”  
  
“Hello, Hagrid!”  
  
Hagrid set down the fifth Christmas tree of the day and dusted off his hands. The afternoon had been bustling with students who wanted to help decorate, while the rest were packing or sick in their beds. Madame Pomfrey definitely had her hands full in December. Harry had been hanging up colorful baubles beside Professor Sprout, as she wrapped the trees with ribbon and dotted them with Christmas flowers.  
  
Draco, who seemed to have an affinity for every subject, was helping Professor Flitwick charm little orbs of light to dance around the branches. Even Professor McGonagall was helping, by showing students how to transfigure broken quill nibs into stars.  
  
“Professor Snape said yeh were spending Christmas at ‘ogwarts.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Yeh should come down and have a cuppa then, if you like.” Hagrid suggested, as he stood back to survey the decorations. “I know all yeh friends will be goin’ home and such.”  
  
“Thanks Hagrid.”  
  
“My door is always open for yeh, ‘arry.”  
  
Harry offered a smile, but then frowned as he observed all the teachers putting up baubles. “Why isn’t Professor Snape helping?”  
  
“Oh, Perfessor Snape don’t like Christmas.”  
  
“Why?"  
  
Hagrid shrugged uncomfortably. “He don’t have any family left, I don’t think. Christmas isn’t really a happy thin’ for him, bless ‘im.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Harry’s frown hardened. Christmas had never been a happy affair for him either, but this was his chance to make it one. It couldn’t hurt to include Professor Snape in the celebrations. When Hagrid left to bring in another tree, he stole an armful of garland and a box of baubles.  
  
“Where are we going?” Draco asked, when Harry caught his attention and gestured towards the door.  
  
“We’re going to see Professor Snape.”  
  
“Oh, okay.”  
  
They traipsed down the hallways, feeling the cold harshen as they reached the dungeons. There were lights glittering down every corridor, and the scent of pine needles and cinnamon sticks filled the air. Harry knocked on the wall inside the secret hallway and waited impatiently until the door shimmered in its place and opened for them.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape greeted them, eyeing the twirl of garland suspiciously. “Mr. Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“It’s just Harry, sir.” Harry insisted, offering his Head of House a kind smile. “You weren’t helping the other teachers put up decorations, so we thought we’d bring you some here.”  
  
“I think they would be better suited in your own dormitory, Mr. Po – Harry.”  
  
“Our room already has a tree.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”  
  
“These are for you.”  
  
Snape gave an almost inaudible sigh and opened the door a little further. The warmth of the room wrapped around them, causing them to feel the chill in their fingers even deeper. The room was bare, as expected, save for the lone Christmas card sitting on the mantle.  
  
“Who’s that from?” Harry asked, eyeing the painted peppermint sticks curiously.  
  
“An old student of mine.”  
  
“They sent you a Christmas card?” Harry asked, as he approached the mantle. Before the professor could say anything, he had pulled out his wand and cast a temporary sticking charm to the garland. “What do you think?”  
  
Professor Snape offered the tiniest smile. “I think you need to work on your sticking charms.” he smirked, as the garland dropped to the floor.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“No matter.” Snape shook his head, and walked into the kitchenette. “If you’re going to force Christmas decorations into my quarters, I’m going to turn this into a teaching moment. Show me the wand movement.” He brought down a kettle and filled it with water.  
  
Harry complied.  
  
“And the incantation?”  
  
“ _Obhaeresco.”  
  
_ “Good.” Snape pulled out his own wand. “Your wand movements are a little stiff. It should come naturally, and your half-circle should be fluid, like this.”  
  
“Okay."  
  
“Try putting it up again.” Snape sighed, as he brewed loose tea leaves. It was a new package, full of dried apple peel and spices – an early Christmas present from a former student. The same student who had gifted him the spelled tea saucer, actually. Snape shook his head; surely, Ms. Hastings had better things to do with her time and sickles than purchase her surly Potions teacher Christmas gifts.   
  
By the time the tea had steeped, Harry and Draco had finished hanging up the last of the baubles, and Draco was charming little lights to flit about.  
  
Snape took a sip of his tea to hide the smirk of pride towards his students that threatened to spill. As the fragrant taste coated his tongue, he hummed appreciatively. The tea was pleasant and damn it, he was actually happy for the gift.  
  
“Oh, this is really good.” Harry offered, picking up his own cup.  
  
“Thank you, Professor.”  
  
They stood back and watched the lights twinkle against the green and silver ornaments. Snape didn’t think this room had ever seen Christmas decorations before. He shook his head once more and bit his lip against the forming smile.  
  
Saturday morning brought the frantic pace of last-minute packing, eager goodbyes, and holiday wishes. The house elves filled the breakfast table with cranberry almond muffins and Draco stole two downstairs as he packed and repacked his trunk for the third time.  
  
“I do wish Mother would cast an expandable charm on it already.” Draco sighed.  
  
Harry shrugged; everything he ever owned fit just fine in his trunk.  
  
“You better write to me!” Draco made him promise, as he latched the trunk shut and gave the expensive leather a reassuring pat.  
  
“I don’t think I could go two weeks without talking to you.” Harry assured.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Up in the foyer, Hermione wrapped Harry in a tight hug and the familiar smell of soap and wildflowers was comforting. There was a part of him that wanted the hug to last longer, because he never felt anything quite like it, but too quickly, she let go. “I’ve packed a new stack of books in my trunk, but promise you’ll write if you find anything on Nicholas Flamel.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“And be careful around Quirrell – I heard Anthony Goldstein swear Quirrell cast a Stinging Hex when he didn’t leave the classroom fast enough yesterday.”  
  
“Did he tell Flitwick?”  
  
“He’s checking it out, but I don’t think Professor Flitwick really believes him.”  
  
Professor McGonagall counted heads and then she led her group of Gryffindors to the train platform. They were replaced by the Slytherins, as they dragged their trunks up the dungeon stairs. Professor Snape appeared at the door, wearing a thick coat and a long grey scarf around his neck. He scowled at the group as the prefects counted heads.  
  
“How nice it must be to follow your own timetable.” Snape raised an eyebrow, when Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass appeared late in the foyer. “I wasn’t aware you had your own train waiting; one that would leave whenever you deemed yourself ready.”  
  
“Sorry, sir.”   
  
“Never mind that.” Professor Snape scowled. “If you walk diligently, we shall arrive with plenty of time. Mr. Potter, what are you doing here?”  
  
“I was just wondering if I could walk with you guys down to the station?” he mumbled quietly, looking at him through his fringe.  
  
“Speak up, Mr. Potter. We haven’t all afternoon.”  
  
“Could I come with you to the station?”  
  
Snape studied him for a moment, casting his eyes over the shabby brown coat that was two sizes too big for the boy. He sighed. “Very well then.”  
  
The group took the horseless carriages into Hogsmeade and walked their way down to the station, while Harry shivered in his worn-through coat as he tried to catch snowflakes on his tongue. He wanted to hug Draco goodbye, but he wasn’t sure if that was allowed, and instead waved him off as he boarded with Blaise.  
  
The train pulled away with a cloud of billowing smoke, as the afternoon sun glinted off the shiny red coat of the Hogwarts Express. Harry stood on the platform and waved until it was too far, and he could no longer make out the faces of his friends.  
  
He turned to Professor Snape, who had been watching his shivering form with contemplation and hesitation, and offered a gracious smile. “Thank you, for letting me come.”  
  
The professor studied him a second longer, before unwinding the scarf around his neck. “Here, take this. I don’t want you falling ill again.”  
  
The gesture filled Harry with a warmth that the scarf could never compete with, but he wrapped it around his own neck, tucked it into his coat, and took in the scent of fresh mint and gentle smoke.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Professor Snape merely nodded and gestured back towards the castle. They walked silently, at first, listening to the crunch of week-old snow beneath their boots, until Harry slipped on a patch of ice and Snape sighed.  
  
“I’m okay.” Harry promised, as they passed storefront windows decorated with bunches of holly, tinsel, and lights. He gazed longingly at the sweets shop, taking in the display of peppermint toads and gingerbread truffles, stored in glass jars with red ribbon.  
  
Professor Snape kept walking.  
  
“What do we do now?” Harry asked, as he struggled to keep up with the professor’s long strides.  
  
“I have papers that need to be graded and lessons for the new term that need to be finalized.” Snape told him, as they passed the stationary store that marked the end of Hogsmeade on this side of the train station. “I’m fairly certain you also have holiday homework to do.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’ve got two whole weeks to do that.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “If you insist. However, I am not going to be sympathetic if you show up to my class without your essay come January.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“See that you don’t.”  
  
Harry gave back the scarf when they reached the castle and returned to the common room. He spent the rest of the weekend curled up in front of the fire, drafting Christmas cards, and drinking tea by himself.  
  
He wished he could have Professor Snape’s red correcting ink, as he drew out candy canes and holly berries on a piece of parchment. He even thought about asking him, but he bit his lip and shook his head; he shouldn’t bother him for something so silly.  
  
Drawing with ink was different and very difficult; when it dripped and ruined the card, Harry crumpled it up and tossed it in the fire. When it ruined a particularly good sketch of the snowball fight he had drawn for Blaise, his heart ached for Gemma’s perfect ink-blot vanishing spells.  
  
He was too tired to do much of anything else. He barely slept at night, too aware of the creaks of the castle and the whispers in the dark. When exhaustion finally took him, he woke up chest-tight and breathless at the remnants of bad dreams.  
  
He missed his friends.  
  
He had been alone before, but the four months he had spent at Hogwarts so far had forced him to forget what it was like. He leafed through the books in the common room, choosing to escape Sunday afternoon in a whirlwind of pirates and stormy seas.  
  
Harry didn’t see Evelyn until Monday morning, when she skipped into the common room wearing a coat over pink flannel pajamas and a sheepish smile.  
  
“Oh, hello.” she greeted, as the door closed behind her. She was holding a foil wrapped box tied with a white ribbon.  
  
“You were out early.” Harry commented, as he sketched out another card, this time using the muggle pen that never let him down. He knew she hadn’t though, because he had spent all night in the common room. “I haven’t seen you all weekend, actually.”  
  
She winked. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?"  
  
“No.”  
  
“I’ll share these biscuits with you, if you don’t.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
Evelyn unwrapped the box and handed over one of the chocolate-dipped biscuits. She picked one up for herself and chewed it before speaking. “I’ve been hanging out in Hufflepuff House.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“I spent the weekend with my, uh, friend.” she blushed a little, focusing on her biscuit. “There’s only like three kids in there right now."  
  
“I thought we weren’t allowed in the other common rooms?”  
  
“Well, we aren’t.” Evelyn shrugged impassively. “That’s not really going to stop me though, you know? As long as Professor Snape doesn’t catch me, who does it hurt?”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
"Oh, don't tell me you're already working on your assignments?" Evelyn asked, catching sight of the pile of parchment.   
  
"Oh, uh, no." Harry shook his head. "I was just making cards for my friends."  
  
"That's cool. I wish I was artistic, but I think my sister leeched all the talent - she's a ballet dancer. We went to France over the summer, to look at schools."  
  
"I'm not that great." Harry stammered, trying to nonchalantly cover his work. "I haven't had time to really draw here, with all my school work. I'm out of practice."  
  
"Let me see."  
  
Harry berated himself as he passed over the card he made for Professor McGonagall; he should have just purchased a set of cards from the catalogue.   
  
Evelyn studied the card with a nod of approval. He had drawn a cluster of snow-covered trees with a little bird flying above them, a branch of holly in its beak. "You're pretty good, kid."  
  
Harry smiled at that.  
  
Harry went to lunch on Christmas Eve by himself, for the fourth day in a row. He usually just made himself a sandwich of sorts, and brought it down to the common room, as the Great Hall was mostly empty and it felt very awkward. He was in the middle of buttering a roll, when Hedwig flew in through the windows.  
  
“I haven’t seen you in a bit.” Harry commented, offering the owl a piece of sausage. She hooted happily before offering the note tied to her leg. “Thanks, girl. I’ll come and see you later, alright? I’ve got cards I need you to send.”  
  
Hedwig seemed to nod in compliance.  
  
Harry was searching for a platter of bacon, when Hedwig hooted and pecked the discarded note.  
  
“Alright, I’ll take a look.” Harry shook his head. He picked up the note and found an invitation for lunch from Professor Snape. “Oh!”  
  
He offered Hedwig another bite of sausage, left his roll on the table, and went down to Snape’s chambers. He knocked and waited for the door to appear.  
  
“Hullo, Professor.” Harry greeted.  
  
“Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry scowled at the formal greeting, but shrugged it off as he realized the professor wasn’t wearing his usual robes. He was wearing a white button up and it made Harry realize he wasn’t as pale as everyone thought.  
  
“Did you suddenly lose the ability to speak?”  
  
“What?” Harry asked, shaking himself out of his thoughts.  
  
“Charming.”  
  
“I’m sorry sir. I just don’t normally see you without your robes.”  
  
“How very observant of you, Mr. Potter.”   
  
Harry stuck his tongue out at the professor, momentarily reeling on the fact that he was probably one of the few who could do that and still live.  
  
Snape lightly cuffed the back of his head. “I will not be taking cheek from you.”  
  
Harry ducked and went to sit at the table, looking at the professor with a grin. “So, what are we having for lunch?”  
  
Professor Snape rolled his eyes. “The elves made Yorkshire pudding with sausage and gravy.”  
  
“I didn’t see that in the Great Hall.” Harry frowned.  
  
“It’s staff only.”  
  
“Well, that’s not fair.”  
  
Snape smirked. “Life never is, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry spent a good portion of the meal trying to hide his peas under the pile of mashed potatoes. It was worth giving up one good thing to hide a bad one, but Professor Snape merely raised an eyebrow and commented, “I expect you to eat everything off that plate.”  
  
Harry scowled.  
  
“I keep telling Albus: children don’t appreciate food.” Snape mentioned dryly, fixing Harry with a glare. “Why do we keep spending so many galleons on meals when they don’t seem to eat anything other than bacon sandwiches and sweets?”  
  
“Hey, I eat other things!”  
  
“Enlighten me, Mr. Potter.” Snape murmured. “What were you planning on having for lunch?” When Harry said nothing, Snape’s lips curled into a playful sneer. “I rest my case, then.”  
  
“Yeah, well watch me.” Harry muttered, forcing down a mouthful of peas and potatoes. He ate the rest without complaint, washing the taste away with water. “See?”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”  
  
Harry sputtered. “You riled me up on purpose!”  
  
“You’re just like your father.” Snape commented airily, taking a sip of water. “He could never back down from a challenge either.”  
  
“Well, he _is_ my father.”  
  
Snape said something that sounded a lot like “ _Unfortunately._ ” but Harry couldn’t be sure.  
  
“I thought you said you weren’t friends with my father?” Harry asked carefully, picking up the last bit of sausage and relishing the taste of fennel and spice.  
  
“I wasn’t."  
  
“But you knew him.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
Harry was trying to fit the pieces of their relationship together when Snape interrupted his thoughts. “Have you been sleeping?”  
  
“Yes.” Harry lied, but Snape raised an eyebrow and waited for an honest answer. “If I wasn’t asleep, I wouldn’t be having nightmares.”  
  
“I shouldn't give you Dreamless Sleep without Poppy’s approval.” Snape murmured, taking in the tired eyes and messy hair. “You’ll have to see her first.”  
  
“I’m fine, really.”  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, is it that you don’t want the Dreamless Sleep or you don’t want to see Madame Pomfrey?”  
  
“The second one, mostly.”  
  
“Technically, I’m not supposed to regularly give students calming draughts without her approval either.”  
  
Harry felt his heart drop. “Does that mean you won’t anymore?” he asked quietly. He supposed he could do without. He only needed two the entire month of November, and he had spent his time before he knew about Hogwarts dealing with it by himself.  
  
“Oh, I have her approval for that.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Famous Harry Potter was a special case.” Snape sneered, mocking the whispers that had echoed in the halls after the students found out they had let a first year on the Quidditch team. “He can get whatever he needs without question." He rolled his eyes and wished, not for the first time, that they would just leave his Slytherins alone.  
  
“I’m not special.” Harry protested, hearing the same words in different voices. It seemed they would never leave him alone.   
  
“No, you’re not.” Snape murmured. “You’re just a child, who somehow get very unlucky and very lucky at the same time. You’re also a child who happens to get panic attacks enough times that Madame Pomfrey has written that responsibility off to me. Dreamless Sleep, on the other hand, is a different matter.”  
  
“I don’t need it, sir.” Harry shrugged. “And thank you.”  
  
“For what, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“For taking said responsibility. You could have said no, and I would have to go see Madame Pomfrey every time. I feel safer with you.”  
  
A whisper of emotion flitted across Snape’s eyes, but his face otherwise remained blank. He took a sip of water and thought over that sentence. “I’m your Head of House.” he finally said. “It’s my duty to do these things.”  
  
“Maybe.” Harry shrugged again. “Or maybe it isn’t.”  
  
Snape just stared at him with an unreadable expression. Not for the first time, Harry wished he knew what the man was thinking. “You’re welcome to come back for dinner, if you don’t wish to spend it alone.” he finally spoke  
  
“I’m not alone.” Harry insisted. “Evelyn is there.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “And just how many times have you seen her this week?"  
  
Harry mumbled under his breath.  
  
“What did she promise you?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Surely, Ms. Solak gave you something for your silence.” Snape drew out. “Or is she still as careless as she was last year?”  
  
“Biscuits.”  
  
Snape sighed. “Children.”  
  
Harry just stared at him.  
  
“Mr. Potter, I am quite aware of essentially everything that happens in my house sooner or later. I don’t allow my students to get the best of me, so to speak.”  
  
“She thinks you don’t know.”  
  
“I’m sure she does.”  
  
“Then why haven’t you –”  
  
“Mr. Potter, have you ever taken into consideration the fact that not everything involves you and that people are allowed their personal business? Trust me when I say I will intercept when the time is right, but despite what everyone says, I am not heartless. I will wait until after Christmas to surprise her on her way back from Hufflepuff House.”  
  
Harry thought he seemed too pleased at the idea.  
  
“Okay, sir.”  
  
“Have you started on your holiday essays yet?” Snape asked, watching Harry stare longingly at the plate of raspberry pasties. “Don’t tell me you’re still hungry?”  
  
“No, sir, I just, I mean –”  
  
“Oh, hush child.” Snape waved away the stuttering. “Go put the kettle on and you can tell me what topic you’ve chosen for your Potions essay.”  
  
Harry racked his brain as he filled the kettle and turned the flames up beneath it. He added tea leaves from a canister sitting on the counter and returned to the table with the tray and an idea. “I was thinking the properties of moonstone flowers.”  
  
“How very fitting.” Snape murmured, turning the idea.  
  
“Your idea of fun holiday homework was winter-themed potion ingredients. Moonstone flowers can only be harvested at night, but they’re best gathered in December.”  
  
“I expect you to tell me why that is.”  
  
“Of course you do.” Harry muttered, taking a pasty off the plate.  
  
“Most students wouldn’t even consider such an ingredient, given that they don’t learn about its existence until sixth year.”  
  
“Yes, well, it’s one of the main ingredients in the Draught of Peace.”  
  
Professor Snape was giving Harry an approving nod. “I’m pleased you remembered that, Mr. Potter. It’s nice to know there are _some_ competent students in my class.”  
  
“I’m not that good.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Draco’s potions are always better than mine.”  
  
Professor Snape sneered. “Mr. Malfoy has been helping me with potions since he was a much younger child. It kept him out of his father’s way when Lucius had other matters to attend to. His potions better be perfect, or he’d have trouble to pay.”  
  
Harry smiled a little.  
  
“For a student who was raised muggle, you’ve definitely shown me a lot of capability. You’re no Lily Potter, but you are much closer than you were at the beginning of the year."  
  
“My mother was good at Potions?” Harry asked, distracted.  
  
“She was better at Charms, but yes.”  
  
Harry mulled it over and stood up. “Thank you, sir. For lunch and for telling me that. I have something I need to do, but I’ll be back for dinner.”  
  
“As you wish.”  
  
Back in the common room, Harry opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out the thin stack of photographs. He leafed through them until he found his favorite, the one of his parents laughing in the snow.  
  
“It’s almost Christmas.” he told the photographs. “I wish I could go home and spend it with you, but I guess I’ll never get to do that.”  
  
Lily and James continued to dance.  
  
“Professor Snape says you were good at Potions,” he told his mother. “He says I can be as good as you were, Mum. He scares a lot of students, but he likes me. I know he does. I think it’s because he thinks _I’m_ good at Potions. Snape loves potions. I can tell somehow. I think he misses you. He gets sad when I ask about you. He might not think he does, but I can tell. Somehow.”  
  
Harry paused, taking in the permanent grins etched on their faces.  
  
“I wish you could talk back.” Harry frowned. “I wish you would stop dancing and look at me. I wish I could spend Christmas with you.” He took a deep breath. “Hagrid said you were a good flyer,” he distracted himself, talking to a father who would never speak to him. “He says I got that from you. I don’t know you guys, but I guess I’ve got parts of you both.”  
  
Harry laid down on his bed, the photograph resting on his chest as he wondered what else he had gotten from them. He felt the sadness weighing down on him, so he put the photos away and picked up the cards he had drawn. He put most of them in envelopes and took them to Hedwig who hooted happily and flew away with them.  
  
“Thanks, girl.” he murmured to the empty space.  
  
He didn’t want to return to the empty common room, so he tightened his shabby coat and went down to the Black Lake. Skipping stones wasn’t as fun without Draco there to complain, so he ventured to Hagrid’s instead.  
  
He declined tea, and asked Hagrid to tell him stories about his father instead. He learned how James was the best Chaser Gryffindor had in years and how he once scored four goals in under five minutes. He learned how James and his friends would get in trouble with Hagrid for trying to sneak into the Forbidden Forest all the time, and he even learned that Lily and a younger Severus used to visit Hagrid for tea, much like Harry did now.  
  
It was getting dark when Harry returned to the castle. The sun set early during the winter, and he knew it was almost time for dinner. He left his coat in the common room and ventured to Professor Snape’s quarters, where they shared a quiet meal while Harry imagined his parents and Head of House as students. Professor Snape eyed him with concern, but he never asked questions, and Harry was fine with it.  
  
It was Christmas tomorrow, and he wasn’t sure how he felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got way too long, so i had to break it into two parts.  
> hopefully i'll have part two finished and posted before the end of the week.


	14. The Mirror of Erised.

Harry Potter woke up on Christmas morning cold, sleepy, and chasing the remnants of a dream. He stretched beneath emerald covers and watched the blurred streaks of falling snowflakes coming from the charmed windows.  
  
“Merry Christmas.” he told himself, as he sat up and felt for his glasses.  
  
He looked at the empty neighboring beds, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of spending such a joyous holiday alone, until he caught sight of the stack of presents at the foot of his bed. It wasn’t very much, by any means, but for some reason, Harry hadn’t been expecting any gifts.  
  
He reached for the closest parcel – a pretty red box, and found it full with a collection of chocolate frogs and peppermint toads. “Thanks, Hermione.” he smiled softly, reading the neatly written label.  
  
Resisting the urge to have one for breakfast, he picked up a daftly wrapped package tied with red twine – which turned out to be a hand-carved flute from Hagrid. He tried blowing through it and laughed at the shriek it made. He set it aside, momentarily wishing he knew how to play.  
  
The next package was, quite clearly, the biggest of the lot. Harry carefully untied the white satin ribbon and admired the shinning green wrapping. There was a note on top, written with rich ink on thick cardstock. _“Happy Christmas, Harry!”_ read Draco’s tidy script. _“Most of these are from Mother, I might add.”_ It was followed by another Christmas wish, written in the most elegant handwriting.  
  
Harry’s smile broke into a grin as he pulled out a new jumper. He brushed his fingers against the soft fabric and pulled it on immediately. There was another one inside the box and he set it aside, planning on sending Mrs. Malfoy another thank-you note. Professor Snape had mentioned that she was very pleased with his last one.   
  
He continued sorting through the box and found a pair of high quality dragonhide Quidditch gloves, a box of French pastries tied with a delicate silver ribbon, and a pair of books. “ _Quidditch Through The Ages_ ,” he read aloud. “ _The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”  
  
_ He continued on to his next gifts, which turned out to be a set of chess pieces from Blaise, a new set of quills from Theo, and a curiously plain box with no label.  
  
“What’s this?”  
  
He opened the box and a glimmering sheet of fabric seemed to just slip out. He stretched it out, barely making out the shape of a full-sized cloak. He slipped it on, admiring the light weight and silken feel, as he walked towards the dressing mirror.  
  
He gasped.  
  
It seemed he was nothing but a floating head. He bit his lip, feeling for the non-visible hood of his new cloak and pulled it over his head. He completely disappeared.  
  
“No way!”  
  
He let the cloak fall to the ground as he searched the brown paper parcel. He found a note written in a vaguely familiar script. “ _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very Merry Christmas to you_.” The note fluttered to the ground.  
  
This cloak had…belonged to his father.  
  
He felt a pang in his chest as he absorbed the words. He picked the cloak back up, wondering where his father had gotten an invisibility cloak and why this anonymous sender had borrowed it. He wondered who sent it to him and why they didn’t include a name. He wondered what his father used it for. He wondered if his mother knew about it. His throat tightened.  
  
Harry folded the cloak and carefully put it away at the bottom of his trunk. This was the closest thing he had to his father and he didn’t want to share it with anyone. He didn’t want to tell Draco or Professor Snape; not yet, anyway.  
  
There was bread pudding in the Great Hall for breakfast, chock full of raisins and topped with brown sugar. For the first time since break started, the five long tables had been reduced to only one.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Harry.” Professor McGonagall greeted him, as she poured herself a cup of English Breakfast. “Your card was absolutely lovely – thank you. I didn’t realize you were quite the artist.”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“Well, doesn’t that jumper look warm?” Professor Sprout asked.  
  
“It was a gift from Draco.”  
  
Professor Sprout smiled. “That color green is lovely on you, dear.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Harry!”  
  
Harry turned around to face the well-wisher and was rather surprised to see the Weasley twins. He hadn’t seen them all week and had assumed they had gone home for the break. Ron was trailing behind them, wearing a maroon jumper and grumbling angrily.  
  
“Merry Christmas, guys! I thought you went home?”  
  
“Nah.” George laughed. “Mum and Dad went to Romania, to see Charlie.”  
  
“He’s one of our older brothers.” Fred explained.  
  
“They took Ginny with them.”  
  
“That’s our sister.”  
  
“So, it’s just us this year.”  
  
“Don’t forget Percy.” Fred added with a distasteful frown.  
  
Harry eyed Ron warily, and Ron returned the look. “Merry Christmas, Weasley.” he attempted, since it was Christmas, after all.  
  
There was silence until Fred – he was sure because they were all wearing Christmas sweaters bearing their initials – elbowed his little brother. “Bugger off.” he muttered, but then looked at Harry. “Merry Christmas, Potter.”  
  
Harry smiled faintly, took a piece of bread pudding, and returned downstairs. He picked at the buttery bread as he walked to the common room, then wiped his hands on his bedsheets and picked up the present he had gotten for Professor Snape.   
  
He hesitated before knocking.  
  
“Merry Christmas, sir.” Harry greeted, hiding the parcel behind him.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” Snape nodded, opening the door and letting his student in.  
  
“I’ve got you something.”  
  
Harry put the present on the table and was distracted by the basket already residing there. It was rather sophisticated in taste, and held two dark bottles of blackberry wine, a package of stone-ground crackers, a trio of cheeses with names Harry had never heard of, and a tin of chocolate-coated almonds.  
  
He tried to push off the feeling of anxiety and inadequacy forming in the pit of his stomach, as he compared the exquisite basket with the contents of his gift.  
  
“Narcissa.” Snape shook his head, as way of explanation.   
  
Harry felt a wave of relief, as he recognized Mrs. Malfoy’s name. She had a tendency of giving rather ostentatious gifts, it seemed.  
  
Professor Snape picked up Harry’s gift and eyed it with a soft expression Harry couldn’t identify. He cleared his throat. “Have you had breakfast yet, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“I had some bread pudding in the Great Hall.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Instead he carefully took off the silver wrapping to reveal a book with a dark green cover and gold stitching. “The Art of Potion Making.” Snape read aloud, deciphering the elegant script. He flipped it open, and found it empty, save for Harry’s Christmas card stuck between the pages.  
  
“You have a lot of books.” Harry gestured around. “And I didn’t want to get you something you had already read…so, I thought you could write your own.”  
  
“Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I got your name printed on it, you see.” Harry rambled. “I wasn’t sure if you would like it, but it was worth a chance, you know?”  
  
“It’s a beautiful gift.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes.” Snape paused. “Thank you, child.”  
  
Harry beamed.  
  
“Did you draw this?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Professor Snape read through the card, where Harry had chosen to draw a phial labelled _Christmas Cheer_ and placed it on the mantle. “You seem to have an eye for it.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Snape retrieved an unwrapped box from his bedroom and handed it to Harry, wearing that strangely soft, yet unreadable expression again. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry opened it to find an attractive dark blue coat with silver buttons. It wasn’t anywhere as expensive-looking as Draco’s were, but it was lined with fleece and warm and more importantly, it was _his.  
  
_ “Thank you, sir.” he murmured meaningfully, slipping it on and basking in the warmth.  
  
Professor Snape gave him an approving nod. “I’m pleased it fits. I had it fitted with a permanent heating charm.”  
  
“It’s perfect.”  
  
\--  
  
Dinner in the Great Hall was an exciting affair. The singular table was dotted with red flowers, white candles, and colorful Christmas crackers. There was a giant roast turkey stuffed with apples and prunes, roasted potatoes, rosemary bread, redcurrant jelly, and bubbling glasses of champagne for the teachers.  
  
Professor Dumbledore convinced a scowling Professor Snape to pull a Christmas cracker open with him, and laughed in delight when it gave a burst of noise and confetti. He traded his own cap for the flowered bonnet and offered Snape the paper crown.  
  
He declined it, and the headmaster passed it along to Professor McGonagall.  
  
Dinner was delicious, as always, and the teachers had too many glasses of wine. Professor McGonagall was red-faced and giggling as Hagrid planted a kiss on her cheek. Professor Snape didn’t have more than two glasses and continued to scowl as the others giggled.  
  
“Absolute children.” he muttered, and Harry offered a tiny smile.  
  
There was Christmas pudding with sweet cream and games to finish the night. Some of the teachers were engaged in a game of cards, whilst others played a round of Gobstones on the floor.  
  
Harry watched as Professor Snape was forcefully inducted into the card game.  
  
“Fancy a game, Harry?” George asked, holding up a deck of Exploding Snap cards.   
  
“I’ll just watch.”  
  
“Suit yourself, then.” Fred shrugged, laying down the cards.   
  
“You said you would play a round of chess with me.” Ron grumbled, as he held up the gaming board. “Come on, it’s tradition.”  
  
“Go play with Percy.” Fred suggested and Ron grimaced.  
  
“Go play with Harry then.”  
  
Harry bit his lip and offered a shrug. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Ron’s grimace deepened, but he didn’t say anything other than: “Have you got your own pieces to play with, then?”  
  
“I’ll go get them.”  
  
Harry was rather surprised to learn that Ron was a worthy opponent. He would set his chin on his hands and idly glance over the pieces before casually directing a piece that would take one of Harry’s without trouble. They played three games in silence, and Harry lost all three. He had a fleeting notion to tell Draco, the self-proclaimed chess champion of Slytherin.  
  
“You’re not bad.” Ron commented, as he lined his pieces for another game. “I actually had to think before my next move that last game.”  
  
“Thanks.” Harry muttered, not sure if that was a compliment.  
  
“Do you fancy a hot chocolate?” Ron asked suddenly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“They’ve got hot chocolate over there – look. I’ll be right back, actually.” Ron stood up and Harry was a little thrown off when he returned with two mugs. “Here you go, then.”  
  
“Thanks?”  
  
“It’s just hot chocolate.” Ron shrugged, taking a sip. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
They were joined by Evelyn and the Weasley twins, who were balancing a plate stacked high with different kinds of biscuits. “Getting along, are you?"  
  
“He’s not bad.” Ron shrugged again.  
  
“Not bad?” George asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’s The Boy Who Lived, and all you can say is, he’s not bad?”  
  
“Well, he’s a Slytherin.”  
  
“What’s wrong with being a Slytherin?” Evelyn asked, snatching the gingersnap out of Ron’s hand and dipping it into her own cup.  
  
“He’s friends with Malfoy.”  
  
Harry frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? Besides, Draco’s not here, is he?"  
  
Ron fidgeted. “And he sucks at chess.”  
  
“Well, you’ve got me there.” Harry sighed. “Wait, you said I wasn’t bad!”  
  
“I didn’t think it was nice to say differently.”  
  
“You’re not nice.”  
  
“Yes, well, we’re still not friends.” Ron pointed out, choosing a different biscuit.  
  
“Right.”  
  
They were interrupted by a tired and irritated-seeming Professor Snape, who eyed the group of students warily. “Mr. Potter, if I may have a word?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Harry set his cup down and stood up, only to find Professor Snape studying the twins with a raised eyebrow. “It seems you’ve both gotten your jumpers mixed up.” he commented mildly, taking in the suddenly casual demeanor of the pair.  
  
“But I _am_ Fred.” the twin with the _F_ on his jumper protested.  
  
“Sure you are.” Snape sneered and led Harry away from the two. Harry just barely caught the grumble of, “How could he tell? Not even Mum can tell.”  
  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
Snape was pressing fingers against his temple, as if trying to ward off a headache. “I’ll be returning to my chambers now. I wanted to remind you while it may be Christmas, curfew is still being enforced and teachers will still be making their rounds.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
He nodded and turned on his heel, stalking out of the Great Hall with a billow of his robes.  
  
“Four years and I still don’t understand how he does that.” Evelyn muttered, as they watched their Head of House go. “Is it a charm? Does he sashay out of the room? How does that man make his robes do that?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Harry bit his lip, trying to hold off a giggle.  
  
“Are we still playing?” Ron asked, indicating the chess board. The twins had returned to their round of Exploding Snap.  
  
“Yeah, we can.”            
  
“Eva?” Fred – apparently it wasn’t George – asked. She nodded and they returned to their spot on the floor, where a girl in a yellow jumper sat waiting. Harry watched as Evelyn - Eva, she had been called - leaned into the other girl's side.  
  
“Let’s play then.”  
  
“How do you deal having him as your Head of House?” Ron asked, after they had been playing for a few minutes. “I can’t even handle a class a week.”  
  
“He’s not that bad.”  
  
“To Slytherins, maybe.” Ron grimaced. “Even then, he still seems like a git.”  
  
“He’s nice to me.”  
  
“You can’t have that many people being nice to you, then.” Ron decided. “He isn’t nice to anyone in class, he’s just worse to Gryffindors.”  
  
“Really?"  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Harry thought it over. Of course Professor Snape was stricter in class compared to when they were in his office or personal chambers, but it never occurred to Harry how it might look to other students. To them, they didn’t see Snape playing favorites. They still saw the scary bat-of-the-dungeons Potions Master who was just slightly less mean to Slytherins. It was an interesting concept, really.  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“You’re really not that bad.” Ron admitted, after more of Harry’s pawns had been seized. “I thought you’d be more like Malfoy.”  
  
“No, just Harry.”  
  
“I don’t know why you hang around him.”  
  
“Because he’s my friend?” Harry asked.  
  
“He’s a git.”  
  
“So is Thomas and Finnegan, yet here we are.” Harry pointed out, feeling finished with the game. He watched Evelyn leave the Great Hall with her friend, wanting nothing more than to leave with her. He had the feeling she wasn’t going back to the common room, though.  
  
“They’re good mates when you get to know them."  
  
“So is Draco.” Harry insisted, getting up. “It’s getting late. I think I’m gonna go back to my common room now.”  
  
Ron nodded. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” he promised. “I think we could have been friends, you know? But I’m not going to be friends with a Malfoy and I’m starting to think you two are a package deal – sort of like Fred and George.”  
  
“At least you’ve got one thing right.”  
  
“Yeah.” Ron mumbled to himself. “Goodnight Potter. Merry Christmas.”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Weasley.”  
  
“Wait, Potter!” Ron called out, as Harry was leaving the Great Hall. He turned back to see the redhead scooping up Harry’s chess pieces and bringing them to him. “You forgot about these – they look new.”  
  
“It was a Christmas present.” Harry shrugged, taking the handful. “Thanks.”  
  
“They’re really nice. I’ve had my chess pieces for years now. They used to belong to Percy.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I’m sorry about what Dean said, during that snowball fight.” Ron mumbled suddenly, pulling his sleeves over his hands. “I don’t think he meant what he said; he just wanted a reaction. I didn’t think it was funny. I don’t know what I’d do without my Mum and Dad.”  
  
Harry shrugged and turned away, barely letting the words come out more than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do either.”  
  
After he had traded his new jumper for pajamas and laid in bed, Harry stared at the folds of his canopy and let the events of the day fall around him. It had been his first Christmas away from the Dursley’s and it had been the best Christmas he could remember.  
  
He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the photograph of his parents, staring at their dancing forms for a few minutes.  
  
“Merry Christmas.” he told them, in a hushed voice.  
  
He tucked it away and took out the invisibility cloak that once belonged to his father. He fingered the soft fabric, recalling the note. “Use it wisely.” Once again, he wondered what his father used it for. Did he have it during his own school days? Did he use it to explore the castle in secret?  
  
Harry sat up, feeling a smile grace his lips.  
  
“Use it wisely.”  
  
He pulled on his coat and slipped his father’s cloak over his head. It was very big and the fabric bunched at his feet, but it didn’t do more than gently swish as he walked. With a sudden feeling of determination, Harry stepped out of the common room and into the dark corridor.  
  
“ _Lumos_.” he whispered, wondering if the light could be seen outside the cloak. He wandered along the hallways, sneaking into the library and remembering Nicholas Flamel for the first time since break started.  
  
Feeling sly, he walked towards the Restricted Section – to the same books Hermione had eyed desperately, and pulled down a thick volume from the shelf. He flipped it open and abruptly dropped it as the book started to screech.  
  
He picked it back up and tried to close it, but the noise wouldn’t stop. He could hear the approaching voice of Filch, the castle’s bitter caretaker, and he took off running. He skidded past the grumbling older man and ran down stairwells until he was sure there were several floors between the two of them.  
  
Harry leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.  
  
He looked around, trying to figure out where he ended up. It was an unused corridor, lined with sealed doors – save for one. The door was slightly ajar, and curiosity getting the best of him, Harry slipped into the room.  
  
He found himself standing in an abandoned classroom, holding little more than an aged writing desk, stacks of broken chairs, and a fingerprint-stained chalkboard. There was very little moonlight streaming through dust-screened windows, but it was enough to see the silhouette of a large mirror standing against the wall.  
  
Slightly breathless and holding back a laugh from nearly being caught, Harry ventured closer to the mirror, wanting to see his reflection – or lack thereof – once more. The mirror was framed with faded gold and a faint crack ran down the side of the glass.  
  
He cocked his head, about to question why this mirror was being stored in an empty classroom, of all places, when he caught his reflection and gasped.  
  
It wasn’t just the fact that this mirror could clearly see past his invisibility cloak that caused the gasp, but whom else the mirror showed.  
  
There was no mistaking them.  
  
Harry reached a hand out and watched as his reflection did the same. He watched as the red-haired woman with the green eyes smiled down at Harry and he watched as the man with untidy black hair and glasses ruffled mirror-Harry’s hair.  
  
“Mum?” he asked, barely letting his voice raise above a whisper, in case Filch or Mrs. Norris were prowling nearby. “Dad?”  
  
Lily Potter locked eyes with real-Harry and placed a hand on mirror-Harry’s shoulder. He swore he could almost feel the weighted warmth on his own shoulder. James Potter nodded, looking at his son with nothing short of love.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there for, locking eyes with his parents and smiling ridiculously at the both of them. He sat down on the cold stone, letting his cloak fall to the ground. He asked questions and felt his heart flutter every time one of them nodded in answer.  
  
“Can you not speak?” he asked sadly, drawing circles on the dust coating the glass. He sighed when mirror-Lily shook her head. “It’s okay.” he shrugged. “I never thought I’d be able to actually see you.” He paused, picking at the edges of his invisibility cloak. “How can I even see you? No, I don’t want an answer to that.”  
  
Harry preferred to live in his dreams just a little bit longer.  
  
He could feel himself shaking from the cold and his eyelids were drooping in exhaustion, but he still couldn’t bear to leave his parents. It was only when he realized that sunlight was forcing its way through the grime-coated windows that he realized it was time to go.  
  
“I’ll be back.” Harry promised his parents, pulling the cloak over his head. His reflection didn’t flicker and he bit his lip, wondering if anyone would notice, should he stay hidden in this classroom all day.  
  
“I have to go.” he told himself, forcing himself to stand and leave the classroom. He treaded back to the common room, trying to remember every turn and every door.  
  
It was only when he finally reached his dormitory that Harry realized he was exhausted. He barely registered the thought of hiding his cloak before he climbed into bed, letting the images of his parents fill his dreams.  
  
For once, it wasn’t a nightmare.  
  
He returned to the mirror again that night, not bothering to move when the cold stone made his skin numb and his body shiver. He had forgotten to bring his coat this time, but he couldn’t find the time to care. His parents – or rather, his parents’ reflections – were standing in front of him.  
  
“I miss you.” Harry told them again. He felt something heavy press on his chest and his lungs ached for air. The room became a little blurry as tears filled the corners of his eyes. “I miss you so much and it’s not fair!” he shouted, forgetting for a moment to keep quiet. “It’s not fair that this is all I get. It’s not fair that I had to live under the stairs. It’s not fair.” he whispered.  
  
His parents couldn’t do more than smile sadly, and Lily placed her hand on her son’s shoulder. Harry sniffled, putting his own hand where Lily’s would be. “I love you, Mum.”  
  
When daybreak started streaming through dirty windows, Harry broke out of his stupor. His limbs were aching from his frozen position and he wondered how long he had held his own shoulder, staring into his mother’s reflection.   
  
“I’ll be back.” he promised them, tucking his invisibility cloak under his arm. He meant to head back towards the common room and sleep, but his stomach growled impatiently. He nodded to himself in promise and returned to his room.  
  
It was still early, so Harry had time to put away his cloak and shower before going to the Great Hall for breakfast. He just wanted to grab some toast and bacon before going back to bed, but he – quite literally – stumbled into Ron Weasley.  
  
“Watch it!” Ron muttered, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He looked up at Harry and frowned a little. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
Ron continued to frown at him, his eyes flitting with unchecked emotion. It was clear neither of them really knew where they stood anymore.  
  
“Err, right.”  
  
“Well, I’m going to grab some breakfast.” Harry mumbled, feeling the back of his neck prick. He hated uncomfortable situations and just wanted to be alone.  
  
“Yeah, me too.”  
  
There was still only one table in the Great Hall, and Ron sat beside Harry as he reached across the table for the butter dish. He just wanted to go downstairs; he should have skipped breakfast or had it with Professor Snape.  
  
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Ron asked, helping himself to some eggs. He had what seemed like half the bacon on his plate too.  
  
“Oh, uh, I was just going to…” he trailed off, biting his lip. He felt awkward being here, but the idea of walking away with food seemed even worse. “Yeah, I’ll sit.”  
  
Ron was giving him a funny look.  
  
Harry was pouring himself a cup of tea when Ron started speaking conversationally: “So, how many people are in your common room?”  
  
“What?” Harry asked, concentrating on stirring in sugar. “Oh, pretty much everyone went home. It’s just me and a fourth year.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“All of my brothers stayed behind.” Ron offered, taking the sugar bowl from Harry. “That makes four of us, plus two other Gryffindors.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“It seems hardly anyone stays behind for Christmas.” Ron continued. “I don’t blame them, though. If my parents hadn’t gone to see Charlie, we would have gone home too.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
There was a pause. “Blimey, I’m sorry.” Weasley shrugged apologetically. “I shouldn’t be complaining about those sorts of things with you.”  
  
“Because we’re not friends or because I don’t have family?”  
  
Ron looked uncomfortable.  
  
“It’s fine.” Harry waved it off, but something in his stomach coiled. “What does Charlie do in…Romania, was it?”   
  
“He’s a dragon trainer.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah. Mum and Dad don’t get to see him much anymore, because he's doing school too." Ron made a face, as if he couldn't stomach the idea of willingly doing more years of school. "But they get to see Bill at least. He’s the oldest – he’s a curse-breaker for Gringotts, or something.”  
  
“Really?” Harry asked again, but this time he felt more interested. “Your oldest brother is a curse-breaker and the next one is an actual _dragon_ trainer. That’s pretty cool.”  
  
Ron scowled. “That’s what everyone says. And now Percy is a prefect – he’s probably going to be Head Boy, just like Bill was – and the twins, well, you can’t ignore the twins. Ginny’s the only girl in the family, so that just leaves me.”  
  
Harry nodded; feeling inadequate was something he understood.  
  
“Do you want to go outside?” Ron asked, when they both finished breakfast. “I know where the school brooms are kept; want to go flying?”  
  
Harry thought longingly of his bed, but nodded nonetheless. “Let me just get my coat then.”  
  
“I’ll meet you by the doors in ten minutes?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
It wasn’t long before they were both gliding along the pitch. Harry was flying in lazy circles while Ron maneuvered the outdated Cleansweep. “I have a Shooting Star at home.” Ron mentioned, as he secured his knitted hat with one hand. “Well, it was Charlie’s, but it still flies pretty good.”  
  
Harry hummed in acknowledgement.  
  
“I wish we could play with the Quaffle or something.”  
  
"Yeah."  
  
“You’re pretty quiet, aren’t you?” Ron asked, a few moments later.  
  
Harry shrugged. “I’m just tired.”  
  
“Do you want to go back inside then?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
They landed and Ron put away the Cleansweep. They headed back towards the castle, walking along the edge of the Black Lake. Out of habit, Harry searched for skipping stones. “You know, you’re not that bad when you aren’t being a git.” he mumbled thoughtlessly.  
  
“I could say the same of you.”  
  
“I’m not a git.” Harry protested weakly.  
  
“You set me on fire once.” Ron pointed out, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“You shouldn’t be mean to my friends.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I am sorry about that.” Harry picked up a stone, examined it, and then dropped it back on the ground. “But, you kind of deserved it.”  
  
“I deserved to be set on fire.” Ron repeated, astonished. “Merlin!”  
  
“It wasn’t real fire!”  
  
“Prat.”  
  
“Git.”  
  
Ron offered a weary smile. “I reckon I should apologize about that, by the way. And any other times. It’s all Dean and Seamus, you know? I guess it doesn’t make me any better if I still go along with it.”  
  
“If you don’t agree with what they say, why are you friends with them?” Harry asked casually, bending down to inspect a different rock.  
  
“Why are you friends with Malfoy?” Ron shot back.  
  
“I don’t let him get away with it.”  
  
“What?"  
  
“I don’t let him get away with it.” Harry repeated, confidently.  
  
“Aren’t you worried he’ll stop talking to you?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Maybe I don’t have a lot of practice with having friends – or that many friends to begin with, really – but I know that’s not being a friend. It’s being a – a – well, I don’t know what, but it’s not a friend. I get mad at Draco for what he says. If he decides to stop talking to me because of it, then he wasn’t really my friend, you know?”  
  
Ron stayed silent, studying the rock in his palm. He drew his arm back, cast it across the water, and watched it skip five times before sinking.  
  
“I like Draco.” Harry continued, ignoring the tightening coil in the pit of his stomach. “He’s a good friend to me – and I like Hermione. She’s smart and nice and a good friend, also. If you need better friends, you could try her.”  
  
“I think I’ll pass."  
  
“Suit yourself.” Harry threw his own rock and buried his hands inside the coat’s pocket. “You need to stop being mean to her. She never did anything to you.”  
  
“What about Malfoy?”  
  
“Draco picks fights with people.” Harry shrugged, going towards the castle. “I’m going to let you decide that one.”  
  
He slipped his coat off when he reached the common room and glanced around the empty space before skimming the bookcase for a new book. He had just found an interesting one when he remembered his essays.  
  
Harry sighed. His hopes of reading himself to sleep, in an effort to fill his dreams with fantasy and adventurous characters fell out the window. Or rather, drowned in the Black Lake, as the common room was underwater.  
  
He settled himself at one of the tables with his textbooks and clean parchment, but found himself unable to focus on plants or charms. He cast aside his meager attempt of an essay and penned a letter to Draco instead.  
  
Still, his thoughts drifted.  
  
It had been a full day since Harry had slept, but he found himself standing in front of the curious mirror for another night. He tried to focus on the scrubbed frame, noticing for the first time the etched letters residing on top.  
  
His tired mind couldn’t figure out the strange combination of letters and wondered, briefly, if it was even written in English. He shook his head and returned to the adoring smiles and sad-filled eyes of his parents, still ignoring the tightening coil of anxiety that threatened to make him sick. He just couldn’t look away.  
  
Daylight broke through dirty windows again.  
  
“I’ll come back.” Harry promised once more, stretching out stiff limbs. He wondered if he could continue to do this for the rest of the school year. It was worth the sleepless nights, if he could see his parents again.  
  
Breakfast was nothing more than tea, blueberry pasties, and a hollow good morning to Ron. He vaguely remembered a concerned look, but Harry was too lost in his own thoughts. If the mirror saw through his invisibility cloak, couldn’t he spend all day with his parents? Why did he have to wait until nightfall?  
  
Homework, Harry groaned.  
  
Perhaps he could bring it – no. Harry brushed away the idea before it could fully form. If he could sit for hours without moving, he was definitely not going to do his homework. Another idea was forming, and this time, he flew with it. He gathered his school supplies and knocked on the entryway to Professor Snape’s quarters.  
  
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked, when the door appeared and opened, letting out a breath of warm air.  
  
Harry raised his Potions text. “Do you think I could do my homework here? I couldn’t focus in the common room; it’s too empty.”  
  
Snape looked at him with a calculating expression. “Very well then – but I expect you to actually do work.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
He worked for nearly two hours, while Professor Snape sat across from him and sorted through letters and books. He scribbled down a hasty conclusion and skimmed his essay tiredly. He thought it made sense.  
  
“Do you want me to look it over?” Professor Snape offered.  
  
Harry contemplated the idea. If there were mistakes, Snape would surely make him correct them now. “I think I’m okay.”  
  
“Very well, then.”  
  
He had written about half of his Charms essay last night, but he couldn’t figure out how to start on his Herbology homework. He groaned.  
  
“Trouble?”  
  
“This stupid Herbology essay.” Harry grumbled. “We’re supposed to pick a plant and write all about it and how it can be used, right? I thought healing properties would be easiest, right? Maybe willow flower or witchhazel, but how does a plant heal? Do you eat it? Rub it on your skin? The textbook doesn’t cover healing – just how it grows – and I don’t even know where else to look!”  
  
Professor Snape dipped his quill and returned to his letter. “Potions.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“How does a plant heal?” Snape repeated, without looking up. “They’re used in potions. You want to look up a balm or tonic that uses your chosen plant. Your potions textbooks should have all you need to know.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry looked at his paper, feeling slow. “I didn’t think about that.”  
  
“I’ve gathered that much.”  
  
“I just can’t focus.” Harry defended himself, switching his texts and looking up the index for witchhazel. “I already finished a full essay, alright?”  
  
Professor Snape finally looked up, studying him. “Have you been sleeping?"  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Might I recommend Dreamless Sleep?” Snape asked, an almost sardonic edge to his voice. “I believe I’ve mentioned it before, but perhaps it fell on deaf ears.”  
  
“I don’t need it.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I don’t.” Harry repeated, panic setting in. If he slept through the night, it would mean hours of missed opportunity. Hours he would rather spend with his parents.  
  
“You are a stubborn child, you know that?”  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“Finish your essay.” Professor Snape directed, putting his finished letter inside an envelope and picking up a book. He ruffled through the pages until he found the unmarked jar label he was using as a bookmark and continued to read.  
  
“You’ve been rather quiet.” Snape commented some time later, looking up to find Harry fast asleep over his homework. He closed his book over his makeshift page marker and stood up. “Children.” he muttered to himself, taking out his wand and casting a gentle levitation spell on Harry’s body, bringing him to the couch. “I should just pour Dreamless Sleep over your evening pumpkin juice; that’ll ensure you sleep through the night.”  
  
Harry stirred a little.  
  
Professor Snape reached for the strewn blanket and draped it over Harry, returning to his book with another muttered tirade. It was silent for a few hours, save for the fluttering of pages and then the eventual simmering of water and light tapping of ceramic mug on wooden table. It was in the middle of a particularly thrilling paragraph that Harry began to whimper in his sleep.  
  
Snape glanced up.  
  
“Please, come back.” Harry murmured, turning on the couch. “No, stay away from them.”  
  
“Mr. Potter?” Snape stood up.  
  
“Uncle Vernon.” Harry pleaded, his voice thick and muffled. “Please, leave them alone. Mum, come back. Mum.”  
  
“Mr. Potter.” Snape repeated, hovering a hand over Harry’s shoulder.  
  
“Stop, don’t hurt them.”  
  
“Mr. Potter.”   
  
“Mum, please come back.”  
  
“Harry.” Professor Snape shook his ward slightly, locking eyes as soon as they opened. “It’s time to wake up now.”  
  
“Professor Snape?"  
  
“Mr. Potter.”  
  
His cheeks flushed a little. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, to bother you. I just, it was nothing. It happens all the time. I’m, uh, thank you for waking me up.”  
  
Snape was staring at him with a somber expression, but Harry couldn’t quite make out what he was potentially feeling.  
  
“I’ll be going now.”  
  
The professor studied Harry’s frantic movement as he packed up his school things, black eyes lingering over the dark circles that weighed down emerald green ones. Harry’s breathing was rushed and he accidentally dropped everything he was holding.  
  
“Breathe, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I just.” Harry rambled on, dropping to his knees to pick up strewn paper and quills. His face paled when he lifted up his inkpot to find it cracked, its black ink dripping on the floor. “Oh, Merlin. I’m sorry. I’ll just, I’ll.”  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Harry looked up, his breathing shallow. He watched thin fingers pry the cracked inkpot from his own hands and then vanished with a gentle spell. The ink that stained the floor was vanished just as quickly, and Harry tried to copy the even breaths of his Head of House.  
  
“Do you need a calming draught?”  
  
Harry shook his head out of instinct, but just as quickly nodded. He shakily accepted the blue potion a few minutes later and drank it, not letting his tongue linger on the taste. “Why don’t they ever taste good?” he grimaced.  
  
Professor Snape smirked in amusement. “Truly a question for the ages.”  
  
“Do you think I could stay for dinner?” Harry asked a few minutes later, as the potion draped over his anxieties like a blanket. He started pulling at the hem of his jumper, not wanting to make eye contact.  
  
“I’m afraid I’ve already agreed to dine with the Headmaster.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Professor Snape was studying him carefully, making Harry squirm under the scrutiny. “I could decline, if you feel unwell. Merlin knows you won’t go see Madame Pomfrey if you forget how to breathe again.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
“If you insist.”  
  
“And I don’t forget how to breathe!” Harry muttered. “That’s not what happens, okay? I don’t expect you to understand.”  
  
Professor Snape offered an amused smile. “Making assumptions, aren’t you? How very unlike you.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Harry froze. “Do you mean, you…?”  
  
“There you go, making assumptions again. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me, then.” Snape sneered, a playful glint in his eyes.  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“Now, _that_ doesn’t surprise me.”  
  
Harry groaned. “Fine, don’t make sense then. I’m going to go to the Great Hall now, since it’s apparently dinnertime.”  
  
“Yes, that’s what happens when you sleep all day.”  
  
“I was tired!”  
  
Professor Snape stood up and opened the door for Harry. “Perhaps you should consider heeding my advice, then, so you can sleep during the night.”  
  
Harry shrugged it off and went into the Great Hall, barely registering the return of four tables. He slumped into a seat, picking at a piece of bread. He didn’t want to spend the evening alone, but Professor Snape was busy and the houses were divided again.  
  
He never really realized just how big the Great Hall was.  
  
The silence was suffocating and it amplified the smallest of noises. There was a single Ravenclaw sitting at her table and Harry accidentally made eye contact with her. The Ravenclaw didn’t look away, but continued to stare at Harry as she took a sip of juice.  
  
The calming draught kept his breathing steady, but his thoughts still started to spin. Deciding it wasn’t worth dinner, Harry brushed the crumbs off his hands and left the room. He still had a good amount of Christmas candy left; it would have to suffice.  
  
He sat down on the floor near his bed, going over his collection of sweets. He hadn’t tried the pastries from Draco’s mother yet, so he picked up the box and examined the miniature desserts. It was definitely better than dinner, as Harry bit into a pink iced cake, full of white cream and sweet fruit. The lemon tartlet was nice, but the favorite was absolutely the flaky dough filled with a chocolate-something and hazelnut. He made a mental note to ask Draco what everything was, so he could buy it himself for the rest of his life.  
  
Harry went into the bathroom to wash the powdered sugar and melted chocolate off his hands and face, leaving his pile of sweets abandoned on the floor. He locked eyes with his reflection and his thoughts flitted back to his parents. He almost expected them to appear in this mirror and bit his lower lip when they didn’t.  
  
He checked the clock in the room, debating with himself. It wasn’t very late – curfew wasn’t for a few more hours, but he couldn’t stand to wait any longer.  
  
“Just a peek.” Harry promised himself, letting himself out of the common room. “I won’t even bring my cloak. That way, I have to leave before curfew.”  
  
It was a fair compromise.  
  
He stood in front of the mirror, pressing a hand against the cold glass and smiling a little when his parents reached for it. “Are you real?” he asked them, but they didn’t reply. He didn’t really want an answer.  
  
Sitting in the floor, Harry combed fingers through his hair. “I have your hair, dad.” he told James, who smiled sheepishly in return. “I can’t make it sit down, ever. I imagine you couldn’t either.”  
  
James nodded.  
  
“It’s alright though.” Harry promised. “Professor Snape says it makes me look just like you. I rather like the thought.”  
  
He fell silent, letting himself pretend that the people in front of him were real and not just a reflection. He pretended they were all sitting in a room together, perhaps waiting for the water in the kettle to boil or –  
  
“Dumbledore said I’d find you here.”  
  
Harry froze mid-thought, feeling his throat tighten and his heartbeat quicken. The voice came from behind him and it was smooth, detached, and very cold.  
  
“Curious thing, isn’t it?” Professor Snape’s voice continued, as he stepped out of the shadows. Harry had never heard him come in. Snape walked up to the mirror, but didn’t stand in front of it. He lifted a hand and ran it along the antique frame.  
  
“S-sir.”  
  
“Tell me, Mr. Potter – what is it that you see?”  
  
Harry swallowed and looked down at his lap. He didn’t sound particularly angry, but his steps seemed rigid and Harry could feel the tension radiating in the room. “I, I see my parents.” he forced out. “Sir.”  
  
“Indeed.” Snape looked down at Harry, a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. “Did you ever stop and wonder why that was? Do you know what this is, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“It’s a mirror.” Harry couldn’t help but mutter.  
  
“Don’t speak to me like that.” the professor snapped. “Did you not consider the idea that this could be dangerous? You found a mirror that reflected your dead parents and you what? Decided to stay?"  
  
Harry said nothing.  
  
“Did you even think?” Snape asked silkily. “Did you even think about the fact that you were out past curfew – all night, for that matter – for three nights in a row? Or are the rules beneath you, Mr. Potter?"  
  
“You weren’t supposed to find out.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, astonished. “You are truly a fool, child. I was bound to find out sooner or later, you know.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have if Dumbledore didn’t tell you.” Harry shot back, feeling stupidly brave. He wondered if he should just come quietly and return later with his cloak.  
  
“Detention, Mr. Potter.” Snape said offhandedly and Harry felt his chest tighten. “Don’t even try to argue with me. If you’re going to act like a Gryffindor, then I’ll treat you like one.”  
  
“I can see why they don’t like you then.”  
  
“It’s not my job to be liked.” Professor Snape narrowed his eyes, offering Harry a hand and hoisting him up. “It’s my job to teach and make sure my students are alright.” He took in the look of defeat in Harry’s eyes. “And you, Mr. Potter, are not alright.”  
  
“I’m fine.” Harry mumbled tiredly.  
  
“You keep telling yourself that.”  
  
“Can you just go away?”  
  
Professor Snape didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but continued to study the ornate frame in front of them. “Did you never question what this was?” he asked eventually, his voice pensive.  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“ _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.” Snape read the inscription Harry had ignored. “Much like what a mirror reflects, the writing is backwards. You’ve stumbled across the Mirror of Erised.”  
  
“Backwards?” Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from his parents and focusing on the wording he had been too tired to consider. “I show not your…face but…your hearts…desire. It just shows you what you want most?”  
  
“Ones deepest and most desperate desires.”  
  
“Like my parents.”  
  
Professor Snape nodded. “Like your parents.” he agreed, his voice strangely soft.  
  
“Sir?” Harry asked, cautiously. “What do you –”  
  
“Don’t.” Snape interrupted, gesturing towards the door. “I believe it’s time for us to leave, Mr. Potter. The Headmaster has informed me that he’ll be moving the mirror tomorrow.”  
  
“I just want to see my parents.” Harry cried out, distraught. “Please.”  
  
“Many have wasted in front of this mirror, enraptured in the visions it offers. It’s nothing more than a trap, making them forget to live the life they have, too busy wishing for the life they’ll likely never have.”  
  
Harry nodded miserably.  
  
“You aren’t seeing your parents, Harry.” Professor Snape murmured, putting a hand on the small of Harry’s back and guiding him out of the classroom. “You’re seeing a dream.”  
  
“It’s all I have.”  
  
“It’s rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”  
  
They walked back towards the Slytherin common room, but rather than leaving him at the door, Professor Snape led Harry into his dormitory. He eyed the pile of candy with disdain. “Honestly, Mr. Potter.” he muttered tiredly. “Go, change into pajamas. I believe tonight’s a good a night as any for some hot chocolate.”  
  
Harry stared at Snape in bewilderment, but gathered his clothes and dressed in the bathroom. When he returned, the professor was cradling a steaming mug, complete with a dollop of whipped cream.  
  
“Thank you, sir.” he said cautiously, climbing into bed and taking a sip of the hot drink. The taste coated his tongue and he couldn’t help the tiny smile that formed.  
  
“I want you to forget about the mirror.”  
  
Harry nodded, looking away.  
  
“I’m serious, Mr. Potter.” Snape warned. “Four days of detention is nothing compared to what I can make it.”  
  
“Four?”  
  
Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to argue.  
  
Harry sighed. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“The things the mirror shows can be bewitching and tantalizing, but don’t get lost in what isn’t real. You’ll deteriorate right in front of it.”  
  
Harry said nothing, choosing to take a long sip of his drink instead. He stumbled across a curious taste of lavender woven into the chocolate.  
  
It was silent for a few minutes again, and Harry looked up to see hesitation clouding the man’s face. His eyes were distant and calculating. Harry hummed absentmindedly, bringing the other out of his thoughts. He looked at Harry with a guarded expression, his previous emotions hidden and his eyes refocused.  
  
“How about if we…” Professor Snape trailed off, peaking Harry’s interest. He rarely saw him lost for words. “I’m merely suggesting this because I think it would benefit you, if just to rid away the ludicrous damage the mirror has done, but how about if we go visit your parents? Their grave, I mean.”  
  
Harry started; that was nowhere near what he had expected.  
  
“W-when?”  
  
Snape closed his eyes. “Tomorrow, most likely.”  
  
Harry leaned back against his pillows, letting the idea settle in his mind. “Please, sir.”  
  
“Very well.” Snape opened his eyes again, and Harry thought he could detect the faintest glimmer of regret. “I have to speak to the Headmaster about it, so don’t even dare get your hopes up.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Finish your hot chocolate.”  
  
Harry obliged, letting the whipped cream coat the back of his tongue as he toyed the idea of seeing his parents’ grave. His actual parents, not the hallucination that stemmed from his stupid heart. Professor Snape was looking at his ward with a wary expression and only then did Harry notice the exhaustion that lined the professor’s face. Snape was always offering Dreamless Sleep and Harry wondered briefly if the professor could benefit from it too.  
  
He felt himself growing tired and the half-filled mug started slipping from his hands. Professor Snape took it with gentle fingers and as a warm and calm sort of haze settled over Harry, he suddenly realized the hot chocolate could have had been laced. But as he drifted off, he realized he didn’t really care.  
  
The sleep was welcome, and for once, it was dreamless.  
  
\--  
  
It was late in the morning when Harry found himself standing in the secret hallway that led to Professor Snape’s quarters. He had his Slytherin scarf tucked into his new coat and his hands tucked into the ever-warm pockets, in a subtle attempt to hide his shaking hands.  
  
Scuffing the tip of his dragonhide boot against the stone, Harry willed himself to take a deep breath and knock. He had gotten a note from Snape during breakfast, stating that the Headmaster had agreed to their little trip and requesting Harry’s presence at eleven – _dressed warmly, for Merlin’s sake.  
  
_ “Were you planning on knocking?” Snape asked, as the door appeared and opened. “Or were you just going to stand there all day?”  
  
“Sorry, sir.”  
  
“Never mind that.” Professor Snape pulled the door closed behind him. He was wearing a rather nice coat, buttoned up to his throat. Harry could see the silver scarf from earlier peeking out. “Are you still wanting to go?”  
  
Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.  
  
“Let’s go then.” Snape sighed, leading them into the hallway. “We’ll have to walk towards Hogsmeade, until we clear the apparition wards. Then we can go to Godric’s Hollow.  
  
“Apparition?”  
  
“It’s a common way of travelling. You might be more familiar with its muggle counterpart – teleporting.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean what Mimsey does?"  
  
Snape nodded.  
  
“I don’t know how to do that, sir.”  
  
“Much like using a wand outside of Hogwarts, wizards who aren’t of age aren’t allowed to apparate on their own. You will take my hand and I will apparate the both of us, but you must hold on tightly. Am I understood?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Apparating turned out to be a horrible thing. It was dark, suffocating, and Harry felt like he was being stretched out and crushed at the same time. It was over quickly, but he could still feel the weight on his chest, compressing his lungs, and denying him air.  
  
“Breathe, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape instructed, loosening Harry’s grip. He hadn’t realized he was still holding on for dear life. “The hard part hasn’t even happened yet.”  
  
Harry nodded and looked around.  
  
They were in a quaint little town, picture-perfect with rays of sunlight glittering off snow-dusted rooftops and little billows of smoke coming from old brick chimneys. They were hidden behind a cobblestone church and Harry had half a mind to continue past the wrought iron fence and explore the town his parents had lived in.  
  
“This way, Mr. Potter.” Snape instructed and Harry turned around.  
  
They were already in the cemetery and Harry held his breath, looking at the expanse of white snow and grey stone that carried into the horizon, unbroken save for the occasional colorful dot of flowers.  
  
He walked forward, unsure of where to go. He passed rows of crumbling headstones, not daring to read their names. He stopped after a couple yards, feeling a heaviness in his heart. Tears blurred the edges of his vision and he swallowed back a sob. Perhaps it wasn’t right to come. Perhaps he wasn’t ready after all.  
  
He turned around and looked at Professor Snape.  
  
Snape was still standing where they had apparated to, silently watching Harry wander among the headstones. The wind fluttered his cloak and his hair, but he stood otherwise unmoving, like a dark statue looking out for Harry.  
  
Harry extended a pleading hand.  
  
There was the faint crunch of compressing snow as Professor Snape made his way towards Harry and then past him. He continued past several rows before making a sudden right and stopping. He was looking down, drawing his wand.  
  
Harry’s throat tightened, but he followed his Head of House and watched as Snape melted the layer of snow and ice resting on top of a cut of marble. His eyes trailed over the letters, taking in the birthdates and the permanent etch of their death date, forever reminding the world of the day Harry Potter lost everything.  
  
“James and Lily Potter.” he choked out, his mind flashing back to the reflections in the mirror. He tried to imagine them here, but couldn’t. He tried to read the rest of the script, but couldn’t.  
  
The tears started streaming without notice, as the reality of the situation hit him squarely in the chest.  
  
This was all that was left of the great James and Lily Potter, nothing but a marble headstone and a wooden box, full of bone and dust.  
  
They were dead.  
  
They were truly, truly gone and nothing was going to change that. Not magic, not a mirror, and not his tears. He wanted to fall to his knees and cry over the years he had missed out, but he couldn’t, because there just wasn’t any point.  
  
They were dead.  
  
He wanted to think about the reflections that smiled at him from inside the Mirror of Erised, but it was pointless because that wasn’t them. The pictures weren’t them. The dreams weren’t them. This was them.  
  
They were dead.  
  
Instead, he turned back towards his Head of House, the man who brought him here. The man who kept the memory of his mother alive because he knew her in a way Harry never would. The man who told him about his father, even if he didn’t have much to tell.  
  
But he was more than that, Harry realized.  
  
He was the man who looked out for him, who offered to check over his homework, who worried if he had gotten enough sleep. He was the man who helped him through his panic attacks and made him feel safe, who was just there when he needed him, even if he couldn’t offer more than a cup of tea and a biscuit.  
  
Without thinking, Harry threw himself at Professor Snape and buried himself in his cloak, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. He allowed himself to get lost in the scent of smoke and mint, relishing in the warmth and security, and letting out a grateful sob when the professor wrapped his arms around him too, hushing his cries and murmuring things Harry didn’t really hear, but just savoring the uncharacteristic moment and the feel of someone else’s protective touch. Harry wondered if that’s what it felt like to have parents.  
  
“Perhaps this was a bad idea.” Snape cleared his throat a minute later, prying himself from Harry’s grasp and looking at the marble slab. His face was void of emotion again, but Harry could see his eyes lingering on Lily’s name.  
  
“No, it wasn’t.” Harry tried to speak confidently. “I needed to come.”  
  
“Very well.” Snape buried his hands in his pockets and turned away. “I think it’s time for us to leave though.”  
  
“We’ve only just got here.”  
  
“Now, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape insisted, and his voice was cold and hard again.  
  
Harry nodded, understanding in a strange sort of way. “Could we leave some flowers at least, do you think?”  
  
“The grammar in that sentence was appalling.” Snape muttered, but he pulled out his wand. He stared at the stone pensively, as if trying to imagine it were something else.  
  
“Did my mother like lilies?” Harry asked. “Like her name? Aunt Petunia’s favorite flower was a petunia, you know.”  
  
Snape grimaced. “Your mother hated lilies.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“She was rather fond of violets, though.” Snape murmured, casting a whispered spell and watching as a bundle of purple flowers graced the stone. “They’re such common flowers, but she loved them for it.”  
  
Harry nodded in acceptance.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Professor Snape didn’t say anything, but stared at the headstone with that strange expression again and abruptly turned around and walked back towards their apparition point. Harry glanced at the stone too, feeling his chest wrench a little. He couldn’t see them, but they felt more present than the people in the mirror.  
  
He offered the dirt a sad smile.  
  
“I’ll be back one day.” he promised them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you split a chapter because it was too long and then it was still too long
> 
> comments make me really happy and i appreciate all of you


	15. Professor Quirrell.

It wasn’t like the nightmares were anything new.

Harry sat upright, listening to his heartbeat thud in a panic, as he willed the strange colors of his dreams to go away. It had been two days since he stood before his parent’s grave and it had been two nights of the same nightmare.

He was still dreaming of his parents. They stood in front of him, just like the reflection in the Mirror of Erised, but the pleasant scene was attacked with flashes of green and crimson that made him feel sick. There was a laugh he couldn’t place and he woke up to a crushing weight on his chest and a desperate need for air.

“It was just a dream.” Harry reminded himself, as he slipped out of bed and got himself some water. He stared out the charmed window. “Just a dream.”

He pulled some parchment out of his book bag and treaded into the common room. It was scarcely lit and Harry chose a seat near the fireplace, appreciating the flickering warmth and low heat. He folded the parchment into a card and studied the quill Theo had gifted him. It had a beige plume and a gold nib, but best of all, it was self-inking. He still needed to make Mrs. Malfoy a thank-you card for her Christmas gift, and now seemed as good a time as any.

Harry was so focused on drawing trails of ivy along the edges of the page, he didn’t notice when the common room was suddenly bathed in outside light.

“I believe you belong in this common room, Ms. Solak.”

Harry held his breath, quill hovering above his half-finished card. There were footsteps entering the common room and Harry burrowed further into the armchair, thankful to be facing away from Eva and Professor Snape.

“Four years in Slytherin House and you are still such a stupid child.” Snape sneered. “I’m sure Filch will be pleased to spend two weeks with you, come the new term. Now up to your dormitory; it’s well past midnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

The replying voice was sullen, but footsteps padded towards the girls staircase. There was a sound of a door opening and closing, and then, silence. Harry shifted slightly, grimacing when the chair squeaked and settled.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry swallowed.

Professor Snape’s footsteps were nearly inaudible, as he walked towards his charge. He stood in front of Harry with a pained expression and drawled, “If you’re looking for another opportunity to wander after curfew, then I have some unfortunate news for you.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere.” Harry grumbled.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. “The rules are not there to pick and choose at your leisure, Mr. Potter. If I find you wandering the halls again, you will be scrubbing cauldrons for a month.”

“I won’t, sir.”

Professor Snape studied Harry carefully. “Would you care to tell me what you’re doing up still?”

“I didn’t know it was against the rules to be in the common room, sir.” Harry remarked.

“What did I tell you about giving me cheek?” Snape asked, his voice cold and irritated. He looked at Harry as if daring him to continue.

Harry shrunk into the armchair. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare?”

“Something like that.”

“Perhaps a calming draught would help you fall asleep?” Snape suggested, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Harry shrugged. “I keep dreaming of my parents.” He returned his attention to the card. “It’s the same as always, but now there’s a flash of green light and this strange laugh. Then they’re just…gone.” Harry added more leaves to the vines. “It’s the second night in a row.”

Snape seemed a little pale. “Indeed.” he murmured softly, but his voice didn’t give anything away. He cleared his throat and extended a hand, eyes darkening when Harry flinched at the motion. “Let’s get you to bed, Mr. Potter. I think a little calming draught in some tea should help.”

Harry shrugged and went back upstairs. Snape followed a few minutes later, holding a cup of milky chamomile, and Harry climbed into bed and took a long sip. He felt the placidity wrap around him like a blanket, quelling his anxieties and making his eyelids droop. He couldn’t be sure if the tea made him fall asleep or if Professor Snape’s presence made him feel safe enough to do so.

“Oh, child.” Snape murmured absently, as he pried the empty mug from limp fingers. He traced the infamous lightning bolt scar with his eyes before leaving the boy in peace. He wished there was more he could do, but sometimes, even looking at the child was too much for him.

Severus stood outside the common room, and with a fluid series of waves, cast a ward on the hidden entryway. He studied the spells, feeling the hum of magic beneath his fingertips.

“P-Professor Sn-Snape!”

Severus turned towards the voice and watched as Professor Quirrell’s silhouette approached him in the weak light. “Quirrell.” he greeted, his voice dripping with contempt.

“Y-you’re not su-supposed to b-be on patrol to-tonight.” Quirrell brought up, as he examined the stone with interest. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“It seems my students think they’re above the rules.” Snape sneered, as he lazily cast a protective, silent, spell over the door. “I had a student residing in a different common room.”

“H-Harry Potter, perhaps?”

“It was a fourth-year, actually.” Snape answered, in a bored voice. “If you’ll excuse me, Quirinus, I’ll be returning to my quarters. Although, there are some things I would like to…discuss with you soon.”

“Of course, Se-Severus.” Quirrell nodded, but he didn’t turn to leave. He continued to eye the wards Snape had just cast.

“I do advise you continue on your patrol, then. The Ravenclaws always seem to think they can get away with hiding in the Observation Deck rather than the Astronomy Tower.” Snape murmured softly, hoping that would keep him away from his remaining students.

Quirrell turned away. “Good n-night, Severus.”

Snape merely nodded and returned to his quarters, unbuttoning his cloak and draping it across the back of a chair. He could feel his composure start to break, as his mind replayed an earlier conversation with the headmaster he didn’t want to think about.

He spelled the decanter of whiskey towards him. He didn’t bother pouring himself a measure, but simply swallowed back a mouthful of the amber spirit, letting it burn the back of his throat and clear his mind with its sharp smell.

It was ludicrous to panic.

Severus pressed two fingers against his temple, as he tried to stifle the oncoming headache. He had spent the last ten years living in remorse and fear, just waiting for the Dark Lord to make his return or for a vigilant Death Eater to make their move. It seems he had spent the last ten years living rather peacefully, compared to the turmoil he felt weighing down on him now.

He knew it was coming.

How many times had he said he didn’t believe the Dark Lord to be truly gone? And now, now that he was faced with that same situation he had been dreading for a decade, now his composure decided to fail him?

At the very least, the Dark Lord seemed to be living in a different plane of existence. He didn’t have a body and didn’t wield any power – yet. Severus didn’t know how long he had to prepare himself for the war that would ultimately happen, but at least he had time.

He knew he had a part to play. He needed the Dark Lord to believe him loyal, regardless of the plane he existed on right now, and he had already compromised it.

Everything was wrong.

Snape wanted to throw the bottle of whiskey at the wall. “Blast this stupid child!” he shouted, forcing himself to take another swallow of alcohol. He needed to calm down.

It was also ludicrous to blame Harry Potter for the night’s calamity.

He should be cursing Dumbledore, for the plan he had concocted with no one the wiser. It seemed he knew Quirinus was working for the Dark Lord, trying to resurrect the defeated spirit that wouldn’t rest. He had placed the Philosopher’s Stone deep within the castle as a lure. He wanted the siren’s song of immortality to call to the Dark Lord, to bring him here.

He had very little regard for the students, it seemed.

He should be cursing Quirrell for becoming a servant and bringing the Dark Lord into Hogwarts, endangering the students and inflicting unexplainable pain to the Boy Who Lived. It should have been obvious from the Welcoming Feast, but Severus couldn’t bear to give the boy more than a passing look that night.

He should be cursing Voldemort – Severus cringed, as he forced himself to say the name – for lusting after the call of Dark Magic, for being so adamant of cheating death, for not letting Severus sleep in peace for once in his godforsaken life.

He should be cursing whatever sick sort of higher being stood before all of them and lit the way to the places they stood now.

But at that moment, it was no one’s fault but Harry Potter. He had to survive the killing curse, didn’t he? He had to be born with his mother’s eyes, eyes that Severus hoped to never think of again when he held her body one last time. He had to be sorted into Slytherin, where Snape had to watch over him because of his own personal code of honor. He just had to succumb to a panic attack that horribly reminded Severus of himself.

He should be cursing himself.

Dumbledore had been right from the start. It would have been safer to keep his distance from the child. He should have let Minerva have him. He should have thrown a fit and demanded the boy be resorted. He should have refused to pay him any mind. He should have been cruel and sardonic and forced the child to hate him. He should have looked the other way when he revealed startling green eyes. He should have directed Ms. Farley to take him to the infirmary that first panic attack. It would have been easier.

And now, he had to distance himself from Harry Potter. This should have been easier. He was supposed to hate the child. And he did hate the child, once, but that felt like so many lifetimes ago.

He took another swallow of whiskey.

“Blast this child for needing me.” he murmured, replacing the cap on the bottle and returning it to its shelf. He had never been a heavy drinker.

He sat on the couch and stared at the dying flames, feeling the alcohol swirl around in his head as he wondered where his life had gone wrong. Perhaps he should have let himself die at sixteen, after all. He didn’t get any sleep that night.

\--

The rest of the week passed in a tired blur, for the both of them.

Snape ignored the rest of the world as he threw himself into brewing difficult potions he didn’t require, but that required every ounce of his concentration. He was barely seen at meals and at least twice, a house elf appeared with a covered dish he hadn’t asked for.

“What are you doing here?” he growled, as Mimsey popped into the kitchenette to deliver a tray of soup and bread.

“Mistress Minerva has sent Mimsey, sir.” the house elf squeaked, bowing her head. “Miss is worried about Master Potions Master, sir.”

Snape put down his quill, where he was trying to remodify a certain potion that yielded mixed results and stared at the tray of food. He turned to glare at the elf, “Tell her to mind her own business.” he muttered angrily, but still he ate.

Harry had finally managed to finish his essays, scowling at the parchment when the ink dripped. He tried vanishing them once and had incidentally vanished his entire essay. The common room was filled with a frustrated yell and the rest of Harry’s essays were filled with pointedly ignored ink blots.

He met Ron Weasley on the Quidditch pitch once more.

“Do you follow Quidditch?” Ron had asked, as they flew around the stands. “It sounds like the Chudley Canons have a fair shot at League this year.”

“Especially since Puddlemere lost their seeker.” Harry commented absently, remembering a conversation from weeks ago.

That was enough incentive for Ron to talk without interruption of his favorite Quidditch team – the bright orange-sporting Canons, who hadn’t actually won a game in nearly a century – for a solid fifteen minutes.

“So, who’s your team?” Weasley finally asked, as they landed back on the grass and stored their brooms away.

“I’m rather fond of Puddlemere, actually.” he shrugged, as he didn’t actually know the names of any other team. It was Draco’s team, he remembered.

Ron grimaced.

They walked back towards the castle in silence and Harry pulled out a pair of chocolate frogs from his coat pockets. He idly wondered how the heating charm hadn’t melted them through.

“Do you want one?” he asked, holding it out. “I got them from Hermione for Christmas.”

“Thanks.” Ron opened the package and watched as the frog jumped out. He caught it expertly with one hand and shook the card out of the wrapper. “Do you want the card, then?” he asked amicably, returning the package to Harry. “I’ve got loads of them already.”

Harry caught a glimpse of Dumbledore and shrugged. It had been the first chocolate frog card he had ever seen; he stuck it in his pocket and ate his own candy.

“Can you believe tomorrow’s the last day of break?”

“I’ll be glad when the train comes.” Harry admitted. “The school feels so strange, being all empty.”

“I guess.”

Harry shrugged.

“How do you reckon this is going to work?” Ron asked suddenly, as they neared the castle. Their boots crunched over the remnants of melted snow that had turned into dirty ice.

“What?”

“Well, are we friends?” Ron questioned. “Anyway, you’re friends with Malfoy, remember? I can’t stand him and he doesn’t like me.”

Harry shrugged again. “Maybe he’ll be okay with it.”

Ron looked at him in disbelief.

“I don’t really know, okay?” Harry stopped as they reached the staircase that symbolized their parting point. “It’s not like we hang out all the time. He’ll just have to deal with it. I have to go talk to Professor Snape. I’ll see you later.”

“I still don’t get how anyone would want to talk to Snape willingly.” Ron grimaced.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye Harry.”

Harry continued down to the dungeons, feeling a little lighter than he had been. His friends would be back tomorrow. More importantly, Draco would be back tomorrow. He knocked on the wall to Professor Snape’s chambers, fiddling with the card his pocket.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape opened the door, letting his student in.

“Professor.” Harry imitated the formal voice, as he sat down at the kitchen table. He suppressed a yawn, watching as Snape put away a stack of papers and put the kettle on.

Snape turned around and glared at him. “I swear, Mr. Potter, if you don’t go see Madame Pomfrey about some Dreamless Sleep _soon_ , I will drag you to the hospital wing myself.”

“I’m fine.”

Snape eyed the canister of floo powder in response.

“I was wondering,” Harry deflected, watching the professor bring the tea tray to the table and sit down rather tensely, “If I could come with you to the train station tomorrow?”

“I won’t be in Hogsmeade tomorrow.” Snape handed him his familiar cup of mint tea. “I have some matters to take care of in Wiltshire.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve asked Minerva to take over my duties, but don’t even think about bothering her. She’ll have her hands full enough without having to keep an eye on you.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry sipped his tea. He wondered if he would ever get tired of the taste. He wondered if he would be able to stomach the indescribably weak teas Aunt Petunia served him, when he returned to Privet Drive. He shook his head; he didn’t want to think about home when he didn’t have to return for several more months.

 _Home_ , Harry sighed. _That wasn’t home_. He looked around, taking in the warm room and low fire. The stacks of books and strewn parchment. The soft sofa and knitted blanket he had slept on before. The wooden table he had sat at with homework assignments and countless cups of tea. The surly Potions Master who always let him in, even if he was busy and had sleepless nights written across his own face. _Home_ , Harry sighed again. _Is this what it means to have a home?_

Professor Snape cleared his throat.

Harry looked up, distracted and found his Head of House giving him a curious look. He looked the other way, biting his lip. _This wasn’t his home. He didn’t really have a home, did he?_

\--

The next afternoon found Harry waiting by the front door for his friends. It wasn’t long before Ron Weasley joined him.

“Are you waiting for Malfoy?” Ron asked conversationally, but there was a hint of dread and distaste in his tone.

“Blaise, too.”

Ron nodded and leaned against the opposite wall. “I’m waiting for Dean and Seamus.”

“I figured, really.”

“Yeah.”

It was another few minutes before the carriages pulled up, letting out clusters of students. They headed towards the castle in a murmur of voices, several of them sporting new coats and boots. The humming became chatter and giggles as they grew closer and Harry grinned as he caught sight of his friends.

“Draco!” he waved, when the two were in hearing distance.

“Harry!”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with mock-pain and amusement. “What am I, then? Just a house-elf?”

“Hello, Blaise.”

“Harry!”

Harry looked up just in time to be enveloped in a familiar whirlwind of wildflowers and soap. He felt his breath catch in his chest and abruptly pulled away. “Hey, Hermione.” he greeted nonchalantly, hoping her feelings weren’t hurt. “How was break?”

She didn’t notice. “Oh, it was absolutely wonderful!” she squealed before leaning closer and dropping her voice. “Did you find anything on Flamel?”

“No.” Harry answered, at the same time Ron stepped closer and asked, “Who’s Flamel?”

Draco straightened up, his fingers slipping into his pocket. “It seems you’ve gotten lost, Weasley.” he sneered, eyeing the hand-knit jumper with disdain. “I believe you belong somewhere that’s not here.”

“Get lost, Malfoy.”

Harry sighed. “Stop it, both of you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but decided to ignore Ron. He turned to Hermione instead and told her, “I didn’t find anything in Father’s Study. Of course, he didn’t let me look through all the books. Just the ones I needed for my _assignments_.”

“I thought you weren't friends with Granger?” Ron asked, sounding confused.

“Perhaps you didn’t understand, Weasley, when I said you belonged somewhere that wasn’t here,” Draco turned to glare at the red-head. “What I meant was far away from us.”

“Leave him alone, Draco.” Harry muttered tiredly.

Draco raised an eyebrow, appraising Weasley in curiosity. He pulled out his wand and waved it around tauntingly. “Tell me why I should, then.”

“Draco, I told you to stop.”

“Yeah, listen to Harry.” Ron added.

“You’re defending the blood-traitor?” he asked Harry in astonishment. “And he’s calling you Harry? Merlin, I’ve been gone for two weeks and…” Draco shook his head. “I knew I should have snuck you into the Manor.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m going to go unpack.” Draco muttered, sharing a look with Blaise and heading towards the dungeons.

“No, come back!” Harry called out. He gave Ron and Hermione an apologetic look and ran after Draco. He thought he heard Blaise mutter something under his breath. “Draco, come on. You just got back.”

“What did you two do, while I was away?” the blond asked, in a haughty voice.

“We didn’t really hang out much, if that’s what you’re asking.” Harry shrugged. “We played chess once, talked about homework, and flew a little. What does it matter to you, anyway? I like Hermione and Neville and Andrew and Ron’s not too bad either.”

“So the Weasel has become Ron, now?” Draco stopped and turned around to face Harry. “I know you’re new to the whole Wizarding World thing, but you’ll find Harry, that some Wizarding families are better than others. I just don’t want you to get mixed up with the wrong sort.”

Harry stared at him, stunned.

“The Weasley’s are blood-traitors, Harry.” Draco continued, and there was a malicious glint in his eye that Harry had seen before, but never directed towards him. “They’re not the kind of people you want to hang around, if you know what’s good for you.”

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco’s smug look fell.

“It means you don’t get to tell me what to do!” Harry burst out. “I’ve spent the last ten years being told what to do and who I can talk to. I’ve spent the last ten years not having friends because my cousin decided to bully anyone who looked at me! I’m not going to let anyone else do that to me, not here, not ever, and especially not by you.”

“Harry –”

“Shut up.” Harry muttered and turned to leave, but Draco held onto his arm.

“Please don’t go.” Draco pleaded. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did.”

“I gathered that much.” Draco sneered. “I’m not trying to tell you who you can be friends with. I’m just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. It’s important to make the right connections if you want to succeed in life.”

Harry tilted his head. “Draco, we're only eleven."

“Right.” Draco studied him carefully. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

“Good. Now, I really do want to unpack.” Draco gestured forward.

Harry stuck his hands in his coat pockets as they treaded towards the common room. He pulled out a crumpled card with a frown, taking a moment to smooth it out.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, just a chocolate frog card.” Harry mumbled, turning it over. “It was just Dumbledore, so I didn’t really ca—” Harry stopped short.

“What?”

“I found him!”

“You found who?” Draco raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times,” Harry read the text aloud. “Albus Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and for his work on alchemy with his partner, _Nicholas Flamel._ ”

“Nicholas Flamel is an alchemist?”

“I don’t think Hermione has looked into that yet!” Harry said excitedly. “I have to go find her! She'll want to search the library again!”

He took off, not really listening to what Draco said last. He was running through the halls, still looking down at the card in his hands, that he didn’t notice when a figure loomed into view. He ended up running right into them.

“I’m so sorry!” he shrieked, putting the card away. He found himself facing the back of Professor Quirrell, but before he could say anything else, he felt the right side of his forehead burst into brilliant pain.

“Professor Quirrell.” Harry greeted, trying to keep a calm composure as the Defense teacher turned around and eyed him carefully.

“M-Mr. Potter.”

“I’m so sorry about that. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I –” Harry rambled, trying not to clutch at his scar.

“Are y-you al-alright, Po-Potter?” Quirrell looked down at him, looking sluggish and worse for wear.

“Yeah.” Harry clenched his jaw. “Anyway, I have to get going, sir.”

He tried to move, to step away, but found he couldn’t. The lights were too bright and they were making his eyes hurt. The dust motes seemed to be swirling around him, the most prominent thing in his line of sight, in extreme slow motion. His knees buckled and he leaned against the wall for support. His head just hurt so much, he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Mr. Potter, get off the floor.” an irritated voice sounded off. “I believe your friends are looking for you.”

Harry looked blearily to the left, to see Professor Snape striding towards him, robes flaring. His eyes were dark and his lips were pressed together in distaste. He looked at Harry, raising an eyebrow in annoyance. “Professor.” Harry offered weakly.

Snape barely gave Harry a second glance. “Quirinus,” he greeted the other professor, his voice soft and silky. “I’ve been looking for you. I do believe we had some things to discuss?”

Quirrell’s face seemed to pale. “Ah, S-Severus, yes.”

They left together. Harry followed them with his eyes, feeling confused and a little abandoned. His headache was subsiding, but he still felt dizzy and tired. He fully sank to the floor in a daze, not really knowing what else to do, but let the minutes pass.

“Potter?”

Harry looked up to see Adrian approaching him.

“How are you doing, kid?”

“Fine.” Harry murmured, absently.

“Come on, kid.” Adrian offered a hand. “Professor Snape told me to come find you and take you to the hospital wing. He said you had an episode of sorts.”

“Why does everyone call them episodes?” Harry complained tiredly, letting himself be helped up. He barely registered the hand on his shoulder as he was led upstairs and into the infirmary. He sort of nodded towards Madame Pomfrey, who ushered Harry onto a cot and started running a diagnostic spell.

“You’re a little warm.” Madame Pomfrey murmured, as she put two fingers to the inside of Harry’s wrist. “And your pulse is a little high. Did you have another panic attack?”

“It was a headache.” Harry shrugged.

Madame Pomfrey turned towards Adrian. “Where did you find him, Mr. Pucey?”

“He was sitting near the staircase, going upstairs.” Adrian shrugged. “I was heading to the pitch with some of the members from the team when we ran into Snape. He pulled me aside and told me to bring Harry here.”

“I’ll be having a word with Professor Snape then.” Madame Pomfrey muttered darkly. “What was he thinking, leaving him like this and sending another student? What if he had collapsed on the stairs?”

“I’m fine.” Harry mumbled.

“Hush, Harry.” the mediwitch told him, holding out a vial of red potion. “Drink this. You’ll feel better in an instant.”

Harry took it and laid down. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds around him. He heard Adrian leave the hospital wing and the soft scuffing of Madame Pomfrey’s shoes on the clean linoleum. His head stopped hurting and he wasn’t dizzy anymore. Whatever the potion had been, had helped a lot. It was several minutes later that Harry heard the door open and the light swish of robes brushing across the floor.

“How if he faring, Poppy?”

“Severus!” Madame Pomfrey’s footsteps sounded off. “What were you thinking, leaving the boy in that state?”

“Unfortunately, I was caught up on something, or I would have brought him myself.” Snape’s baritone voice finally replied, and Harry thought he could hear the slightest bit of regret.

“What happened?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” Snape admitted, somberly. “I’ve only just returned to the castle. I’ve been in Wiltshire all morning. I merely came across Mr. Potter sitting on the floor, seemingly in the midst of a panic. I had Mr. Pucey escort him here, as I was otherwise engaged.”

“Have you ever seen him like that after a panic attack?” Poppy asked, brushing hair off Harry’s face. “He looked so sick.”

“Not to this extent.”

“The poor child.” Poppy murmured. She reached for the parchment from the diagnostic spell. “He’s still a little underfed and his magic is low. Do you know if he’s been eating or sleeping well, lately? That would explain why it was so bad.”

“Perhaps you should ask him.” Snape retorted as Harry’s lip twitched. “Mr. Potter?”

Harry kept his face blank, trying not to move.

“I know you’re awake and I know you can hear me.” Snape continued, sneeringly. “I’ll let you know, I don’t take kindly to being ignored.”

Harry opened his eyes. “Oh, hello, sir.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “What, pray tell, have you eaten today, Mr. Potter? Along with yesterday, for that matter.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember.”

“No, sir.” Harry frowned. “I skipped lunch yesterday to have tea with you.”

Madame Pomfrey clucked in disapproval. “What did I tell you, Severus? He needs to take a nutrition potion for a few days, if he’s collapsing like this.”

Professor Snape sighed faintly. “Mr. Potter, if I don’t see you in the Great Hall for dinner, I will assign you detention for a week. You cannot be neglecting meals – or sleep. You will come to me for the nutrition potion beforehand.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, and speaking of neglecting sleep.” Snape began, his voice almost taunting. “It seems Mr. Potter has been neglecting to ask you about Dreamless Sleep. He’s been having trouble sleeping lately, due to recurring nightmares, and he refuses to do anything about it.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

Poppy pulled out her wand and ran a different sort of diagnostic spell. “You know how I feel about that potion, Severus.” she frowned. “His magic is a little weak, though. I wouldn’t suggest more than a half-dose each night, but only for the week.”

“Thank you, Poppy.”

Harry mumbled a thank-you, only when Professor Snape prompted him with an expectant glare. He was allowed to leave then and followed his scowling Head of House down to the dungeons.

“Sir?” Harry began, wondering how to word this.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“It, it wasn’t a panic attack.” he deflected, not able to speak his theories aloud.

“I’m quite aware, Mr. Potter.”

Harry tried to gather his thoughts and figure out what to say next. “Why did you just leave me there?”

Snape sighed exasperatedly. “I had other matters to attend to.”

“What did you need to talk to Quirrell about then?” Harry asked, in a smaller voice.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, now is it?” Snape countered.

“I don’t trust Quirrell.”

Snape stopped and studied the boy carefully. “He does make for a rather incompetent Defense teacher, doesn’t he?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Harry took a deep breath and realized they were standing near the common room entrance. “I was feeling fine, until I ran into him. I get these headaches – it’s my scar, really – whenever he’s around.” Harry tried to search for a reaction, but got none. “Draco doesn’t think we should tell anyone, because it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t think I can keep it a secret after today. I don’t trust him.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “That does sound ridiculous.”

Harry’s heart fell.

“If you don’t trust him, then perhaps you should stay away from him.”

“You believe me?”

Snape didn’t answer. “Return to your common room, Mr. Potter. Find me before dinner and I’ll give you that nutrition potion. My only concern right now is that you don’t find yourself in that situation again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape turned on his heel, leaving him alone again. Harry entered the common room, wondering if what happened with Quirrell was simply because his magic was weak. If he had been well nourished, would that encounter be just another headache? Or was Quirrell getting stronger? Hagrid had said only Dark Magic could jinx a broom… He didn’t get far with his thoughts, as Draco barreled towards him.

“Harry!” he called out, his voice concerned. “Are you alright? Someone was saying you were taken to the hospital wing, but no knew for sure.”

“I’m fine.” he assured Draco. He caught Blaise’s attention and nodded towards their dormitory. “There’s something I need to tell you, though.” They ventured upstairs, where Harry recounted his latest run-in with Quirrell.

“Snape didn’t give you a straight answer?” Blaise asked.

“No, he just told me to avoid Quirrell if I thought he was suspicious.”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but wouldn’t it make more sense to assume Snape believes Harry?” Draco asked. “If he was wrong, Snape would have no problem saying so.”

“True.” Blaise chewed on his lower lip. “Maybe he suspects Quirrell of something, but doesn’t have enough proof to go to Dumbledore? That way, he can sort of keep students safe without giving anything away?”

“That makes sense.”

“But we do have proof.” Harry insisted. “My scar only hurts when he’s around and he jinxed my broom.”

“We just think he did.”

“We also think Snape was counter-cursing.” Draco added. “If that’s true, then he has to suspect Quirrell of at least wanting to hurt Harry.”

“But why?” Blaise asked. “What does Harry have to do with this?”

“Hermione’s theory made more sense.” Harry groaned. “Snape was trying to throw me off my broom because he knew I knew about Fluffy.”

“Hermione’s theory is also wrong.”

“Well, maybe it still has to do with Fluffy.” Harry sat up. “We know it’s guarding something between Dumbledore and Flamel – we just don’t know what, yet –”

“—or who Flamel even is.” Blaise muttered.

“—but do we also think Quirrell wants it?” Harry finished. “Maybe he found out, that I found out?”  
  
Blaise cringed a little. “I don’t want to assume things we don’t know, but they both arrived in the same year. He might want whatever it is.” Blaise frowned. “But what do you have to do with it?”

Harry shrugged. “Oh, I’ve just remembered.” he laughed, pulling out the crumpled card. “I was actually going to show Hermione this, when I ran into Quirrell. Nicholas Flamel? He worked with Dumbledore on Alchemy.”

“Well, at least we’re getting answers.”

“I still need to show this to Hermione.” Harry put it away. “She’ll probably find what we’re looking for in no time.”

“Alright, but I’m coming with you.” Draco muttered. “I don’t need you ending up in the hospital wing again. It’s too stressful for me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and the two headed towards the library. He decided not to comment on Draco’s subtle hover above his wand pocket, but decided a distraction would be a good idea before he pulled his wand out on a Hufflepuff.

“Draco?” he started, looking for a subject matter. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what were those pastries?”

“Oh, you mean the one’s from Mother?” Draco asked. “Did you like them?”

“They were incredible.”

Draco smirked. “I thought you would like them. They’re from this little _patisserie_ shop in _Paris_. They make the best desserts in all of magical France. Mother let me choose yours. Let’s see, I believe there were some _petit fours_ – those would be the pink raspberry and buttercream cakes – a _tarte au citron_ – that’s a lemon tart, if you will – and a _paris-brest_. I believe yours has filled with chocolate mousse and hazelnut cream.”

“I could have eaten twelve.” Harry grinned, taking a moment to appreciate the perfect French Draco had spoken. It seemed the Malfoy heir truly visited the bakeshop often.

He nodded in agreement. “If Mother would let me, I would too.”

They reached the library then, and sure enough, Harry caught sight of Hermione pouring over a thick text. There was a stack of books beside her. When they interrupted her reading to offer their new information, she stood up and returned in minutes with a new book.

“I never thought to look in here.” she muttered to herself, running her finger along the index. “I was thinking more like magical artifact and valuable discoveries, not alchemy. Oh, here it is, Flamel!” She flipped through the pages and her eyes widened in excitement. “Oh, goodness!”

“What?”

_“Nicholas Flamel is the only know maker of the Philosopher’s Stone.”_

Harry continued to look at her dumbfounded, but Draco was nodding in understanding.

Hermione waved her hands around. “The Philosopher’s Stone, Harry! Oh, come on, don’t you read? Here, listen: _…astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make any drinker immortal.”_

“There’s only one in existence.” Draco murmured. “And it’s probably here in Hogwarts.”

“Anyone could be after it.”

“Fluffy is guarding a Philosopher’s Stone.” Hermione began carefully, shooting Draco a wary look. “You know whatever hurt Professor Snape was most likely Fluffy.”

_“Most likely.”_

“It makes sense, Draco.” Hermione insisted.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“If not Snape, then whom?”

“Quirrell.” Harry answered, much to Draco’s displeasure. “There’s a lot that’s happened.” Harry recounted every detail of their theories and what had happened just that afternoon. He told her about the headaches and their idea of Snape counter-cursing. “He just seems highly suspicious.” he finished.

“I’ll give you that.” Hermione muttered, closing the textbook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited


	16. Betrayed.

“I was beginning to think I had to track you down.”

Harry shrugged, as he stepped into Professor Snape’s office. “I lost track of time, I guess. I was in the library with Draco.”

“I’m sure you were.” Snape muttered, as he pulled out a slender bottle filled with green potion. “I need you to drink all of it, then you may go to dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry studied the phial for a moment before uncapping it and swallowing it back. He couldn’t help but grimace at the taste. “It tastes like chalk.”

Professor Snape took back the empty phial and sneered, “Do you have a lot of experience with eating chalk, Mr. Potter?”

“Unfortunately.”

Snape arched an eyebrow and stared at his student in disbelief.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Harry defended himself, feeling his core fill with shame. “Dudley literally forced a piece into my mouth. He didn’t want me to spit it out, he nearly choked me.”

“Indeed.” Snape murmured, and his eyes seemed to darken. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, did your aunt and uncle do anything about it?”

Harry retreated into himself. “They never do, sir.”

“Look at me when you’re speaking, Mr. Potter.” Snape commanded, but his voice seemed softer than it had been.

Harry tried to make eye contact. “They never do, sir. I just got in trouble for ruining Dudley’s chalk. They didn’t even believe me.”

Snape nodded once.

“Do I really have to go back?” Harry asked in a small voice. “When the school year is over? I got to stay for winter break. Do you think I could…?” he trailed off, throat hurting as he caught a flicker of remorse in Snape’s eyes. “Never mind, sir. It’s not that bad at home, really. I would just rather stay at Hogwarts.” Harry forced a smile. “I’ll be going to dinner now.”

“Mr. Potter.”

“I’ll see you later, sir.”

Severus sighed and let the boy leave. He sat next to Dumbledore at dinner that evening, much to Minerva’s displeasure two seats down. Snape ignored her accusing looks as he quelled his hunger with a glass of wine and nothing else. He felt absolutely repulsive.

“Is everything alright, my boy?” Dumbledore asked, when it was made obvious Snape wasn’t planning on indulging in anything else.

“You’re going to send him back, aren’t you?” Severus whispered coldly. “Back to those damned muggles, at the end of the year?”

“Severus.”

“You would really do that to him?”

Dumbledore looked down the table, but no one was paying their conversation any mind. “That isn’t up for debate, Severus. You know it’s the safest place for him.”

“Have you any idea what they do to him?”

Dumbledore sighed deeply. “This isn’t the time for this discussion, Severus.”

“I won’t forget.” Snape promised, putting down his empty champagne flute. “I will not let that boy return to them.”

“You really have grown fond of him, haven’t you?”

Snape scowled. “I am simply doing my duty as Head of House, Headmaster. If it were any other student, the Ministry would have been notified and the student would be removed from the household as soon as possible.”

“Harry Potter isn’t any other student.”

“He is still a child, regardless.” Snape seethed, contemplating more wine.

Dumbledore nodded, sagely. “It is rather unfortunate, the situation placed upon him, but believe me when I say I do it with the best of intentions.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” Dumbledore asked, refilling his glass of pumpkin juice.

“The best of intentions isn’t about what’s best for Mr. Potter, it’s about what’s best for the rest of the Wizarding World.” Severus uttered softly. “But, I digress. I will not forget this conversation, as we will ultimately have it again.”

“I look forward to that, my boy.”

Severus scowled again, returning his attention to the Great Hall.

They were silent for a few minutes before Dumbledore asked softly, “He knows, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Lily.” Dumbledore clarified, for it was the only thing that made sense. What else could bring the two together, when Severus had wanted to hate the child? He watched as Snape’s grip tightened on the bottle of wine he was holding. “He knows about you and Lily?”

Severus filled his glass. “Perhaps.”

“I thought you never wanted him to know.”

“Yes, well,” Snape took a sip as he strengthened his Occlumency shields against the memory. He had once begged to keep that secret. How strange that he was the one to reveal it himself. “Things don’t always turned out as planned, do they?”

Dumbledore was quiet as he watched over the crowd of students helping themselves to dinner, talking amongst themselves. He watched Harry interacting with Lucius Malfoy’s boy, sitting at the table he wasn’t destined to be at. He sighed sadly. “No, they don’t.”

\--

It wasn’t long before Quidditch practice began again.

Harry was annoyed to admit it, but the Dreamless Sleep had helped. The first few days had been strange, when the potion left him tired and dazed for hours after waking up, but his body soon adjusted. It had been weeks since he had taken a dose and already the nightmares had been sparse.

He was feeling better.

Harry was finally able to sleep through the night, when the start-up of practices tired him out. He still had the occasional nightmare, but for the moment, Harry felt normal.

It was unfortunate then, that sleep seemed to be his only upside. The new term was filled with so much homework and practice, that after serving his four days of detention prepping questionable potion ingredients, he rarely saw Professor Snape outside of class. He didn’t receive notices for tea anymore and Harry was reluctant to admit it weighed on him a little.

Perhaps it was his anxieties that whispered in his ear, but it seemed Professor Snape rarely visited their table during class these days. He couldn’t afford to give the notion much thought, not when the upcoming game was only days away.

“I’ve got some news.” Flint announced, when he called practice to an end. “It turns out Professor Snape is going to be refereeing this next game.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Flint promised, his eyes glinting. “Madame Hooch told me – turns out he asked Dumbledore for permission.”

“Oh, we’ve got this game in the bag.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you slacking off during the game tomorrow.” Flint warned, glaring at each member in turn. “Ravenclaw actually has some competent players on their team.”

“Aye, captain.”

Practice was dismissed then. Harry put his broom away and returned to Draco, who was still attending practices. He seemed sullen, but that was just how Draco was these days. If he wasn’t taunting the Gryffindors, he was glaring pointedly.

“Are you ready for tomorrow’s match?”

“I think so.” Harry nodded. “Ron and I checked out the Ravenclaw practice last week. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

Draco shrugged.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, stopping and appraising Draco.

“Nothing.”

“Draco.”

Draco didn’t reply. They returned to their common room, where they gathered their book bags, Pansy, and Blaise, before returning upstairs to the library. They ran into Neville Longbottom, who was carrying two books and eyeing the approaching group of Slytherins with unease.

Draco stared back, cocking an eyebrow.

“Hi, Neville.” Harry greeted.

“Hi, Harry.”

Draco pulled out his wand and smirked. “Watch this,” he whispered, as he cast a leg-locking jinx on the Gryffindor. He laughed as Neville crashed to the ground, dropping his books. “I’ve been wanting to practice that on someone.”

Pansy laughed with him.

“Draco!” Harry scolded, pulling out his own wand. He cast the counter-spell, smiling a little when it worked on the first try. He extended a hand out. “I’m sorry about that, Neville.”

Longbottom stared at him in bewilderment. “Th-thanks, Harry.” he mumbled, picking up his books and hurrying back to Gryffindor Tower.

“What did you do that for?” Draco asked.

“I could ask you the same.” Harry raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re ruining my fun.”

“That isn’t fun!” Harry argued. “I’ve been on the other side of that before, just without magic, and it isn’t any fun! That’s the third time you’ve done that and if you don’t stop, _I’ll_ hex _you_.”

“Fighting words, Harry.” Draco smirked.

“I’m serious, Draco.”

Blaise and Pansy grimaced at each other and shuffled into the library without a backwards glance. This wasn’t the first time the two were having this conversation.

“Fine.”

“Please, just tell me what’s wrong?” Harry pleaded.

“There’s nothing wrong.”

Harry groaned. “Fine, don’t tell me!” he gestured towards the library. “Come on, I have to finish that assignment for Charms.”

\--

Harry was sitting on the floor of the locker room, his Quidditch robes draped across his lap. He could hear the team suiting up, but he had stowed behind a sectional wall, trying to remember how to catch his breath.

It made no sense.

He loved playing Quidditch, so why did the thought of playing make him want to be sick? The events of the last game kept replaying, and with the knowledge of the whole school watching, it was no wonder he felt ill.

“Potter?”

He looked up to see Adrian standing before him.

“What’s up?” he tried to sound casual.

“Are you alright, kid?”

“Of course.”

Adrian eyed him warily, but didn’t comment. “The game’s about to start and Flint has some announcements. Everyone else is ready to go.”

“Oh, right.”

Harry slipped his robes on, grimacing when they felt heavy and debilitating. “I’m ready.” he nodded to Adrian and followed him towards Flint.

“Potter.” Flint looked at him. “I need you to catch the snitch as soon as possible. I want this game over and done with.”

“I thought we had the game in the bag?”

Flint winced. “Dumbledore is in the stands today.”

“Dumbledore?” Cassius asked, in interest. “But he never attends the games.”

“He’s worried about Potter.” Flint shrugged. “They don’t want him being thrown off his broom again. If anyone can work strong enough magic, it’s Dumbledore.”

Harry nodded.

“Alright, team, same as always. Play a good game and do what it takes to fucking win this thing! Just don’t be obvious about it, you’re Slytherins, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Obviously.”

“Ready?”

“SLYTHERIN!” the team yelled and this time, Harry participated. He grinned, as he didn’t feel as much of an outsider as last time. He pulled on his new gloves, grabbed his broom, and followed the team onto the pitch.

Professor Snape was standing in the middle of the pitch, where Madame Hooch usually stood. He was having a whispered conversation with the commentator, Lee Jordan, before turning to the approaching teams.

The rules were laid down, brooms were mounted, the whistle was blown, and the group of wizards kicked off into the air. As the game began, Harry was momentarily distracted by the sight of Professor Snape on a broom.

The two things just didn’t belong together.

It was almost amusing, as Snape’s robes seem to fall around him and obscure the broom from view. It made him look like he was actually flying, with the wind billowing his cloak around him. It would have been amusing, if Snape didn’t look so angry.

“How long do you think he’ll stay on his broom, this time?”

“That’s not funny, Pans.” Draco muttered, as he watched Harry fly his usual circles around the pitch, searching for the golden snitch.

“Yeah, I guess.” Pansy turned towards Draco and grinned. “Funny was when you cast that leg-locker curse on Longbottom. I can’t believe Harry undid that. It would have been hilarious to seem him waddle to his common room like that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I don’t know how Harry is friends with you.” Weasley interrupted, for he had chosen to sit in the row above them. “He’s such a nice person, compared to you prats.”

“Shut it, Weasel.” Pansy warned.

“Hey, Weasley, you might want to place some bets on Slytherin.” Draco sneered, as the team scored another goal with the Quaffle. “That way, when we win, you can finally have some money. I’m sure I have some spare galleons at the bottom of my trunk.”

“I don’t need your money, Malfoy.”

“Really?” Draco studied the maroon jumper he was wearing. “Because that jumper sure looks like a fright. I’m sure it would look nicer with the rubbish.”

“Take that back!”

Draco yawned. “You’re right. That does seem rather insulting to the bin.”

Ron was turning a brilliant shade of red. He was saved from replying when the crowd held their breaths, as Harry started diving towards the snitch. The Ravenclaw Seeker was right behind him, but Harry was faster.

“Oh, you’re in luck, Weasley.” Draco grinned. “It looks like Harry’s spotted some money on the ground! Perhaps he’ll let you have it, since you’re his new friend and all.”

Ron threw himself at Draco, and then the two of them were fighting. He was holding a fistful of Draco’s hair, and Draco had managed to elbow him in the ribs.

“Both of you, stop!” Hermione shouted.

There was a silver spark and the fighting stopped. Ron was sprawled back, staring dazedly at the sky with an unfocused smile. Draco looked around for explanation and found Blaise looking at the two of them exasperatedly, his wand in his lap.

“Blaise?”

“ _Confundus_.” Blaise shook his head, sounding irritated. “Not a very good one, so will you sit back down, now?”

Draco took in the Gryffindor’s expression again and smirked. “That look rather suits you, you know.” He sat down next to Blaise, who was shaking his head.

“What?” Ron asked, shaking his head as if to clear it.

The stands erupted into cheers then, and Draco looked up to see Harry was holding the snitch in the air, grinning triumphantly. It was the shortest game Draco had ever witnessed, ending in under ten minutes.

The crowd dispersed in cheers and scowls, heading towards the castle or the winning Quidditch team. Harry pointedly ignored Draco as he smiled gratefully at Blaise. “Thank you for stopping them.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, don’t ignore me.” Draco pleaded.

Harry finally looked at him, wearing such a tired expression that Draco frowned. “I don’t understand why you won’t stop picking on them. You were ignoring them just fine, you know. Is it because I started talking to them more? You don’t bother Hermione.”

“I don’t mind Hermione.”

“It’s because you’re friends with her, then?” Harry sighed. “I’m allowed other friends, Draco, we talked about this.”

“I know.”

“Just because I have other friends doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being your friend, you know. Believe it or not, I actually like you. You’re my best friend, you prat.”

“Really?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No one else could compare.”

The Slytherins were leading the team back to the castle, with promises of celebration. Harry had missed out last time, when he went to Hagrid’s after the game.

“I heard Bletchley smuggled in Firewhiskey and that he was saving it for the next match.” Draco smirked, as Harry took off his Quidditch robes.

“If Professor Snape finds out about it, he’ll murder all of us.” Blaise muttered, watching the crowd leave. “And he’ll find out.”

“Fair enough, but I heard there was a table full of sweets last time, and I’m not going to miss out again. Hurry up, Harry!”

“Just go ahead, you prat.” Harry gestured toward his broom. “I’ll catch up with you in just a few minutes.”

“I’m not going to save you any sweets, if you take too long.”

“Understood.”

Harry returned to the changing rooms and threw his Quidditch robes on top of the others and slipped on Draco’s jumper. The House Elves would have the robes laundered and returned by morning.

He was heading towards the broom shed when he caught sight of familiar black robes, fluttering into the Forbidden Forest. He watched Professor Snape disappear between the trees, and curiosity getting the best of him, jumped onto his broom and tried to follow.

“I was wondering if you were going to show up."

Harry followed the silken voice and came across a small clearing. He tried to stay hidden, almost gasping in surprise when he saw Professor Quirrell arrive. He was shaking, watching as Professor Snape advanced on him with an almost hungry look.

“I d-don’t know w-why you wa-wanting to m-meet here of all p-places, Se-Severus.” Quirrell barely stuttered out.

“Oh, I just thought we should keep this private.” Snape shrugged, his voice cold. “After all, students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Of co-course.”

Harry tried to get closer, straining to hear Snape’s soft-spoken voice. If they were discussing the Philosopher’s Stone, he was bound to overhear something important.

“Have you figured out how to get past those beasts of Hagrid’s, yet?”

“No, b-but Sev-Severus—”

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirinus.” Snape threatened, his voice like ice, as he closed the space between the two professors. “It is an honor to execute what you have been given. I truly hope you know where your loyalties lie.” his lips curled into a sneer. “You are weak when the boy is nearby. _He_ is weak, and I have been keeping that good-for-nothing brat occupied and out of the way. I just need you to play your part.”

“I, I do-don’t know wh-what you m-mean.”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Quirrell – _with him._ ” Snape warned. “Time is ticking and I know _he_ won’t be very pleased if he’s kept waiting much longer.”

Snape turned to leave and even in the shrouded light, Harry could see Professor Quirrell looked sickly pale. There was an odd sensation in his chest and so Harry ran. If he had stayed, perhaps he would have heard Quirrell’s strained whisper as Snape walked away. “ _I’m trying, but I’m just not strong enough_.”

Harry flew out of the forest and towards the pitch. He threw his broom in the storage shed and ran towards the castle, desperately trying to keep the feeling at bay as he climbed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower and rapped on the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The Fat Lady looked down at him. “You don’t belong here!” she shrieked. “Slytherin! There’s a Slytherin trying to break into the Common Room!” Her shouts were cut off as the portrait swung open and someone peeked out.

“Alicia Spinnet?” he asked, recognizing the Gryffindor Chaser.

“Potter?”

He wanted to nod in confirmation, but the feeling couldn’t be contained anymore. It filled his lungs and wrapped itself around his throat. It was choking him, coating his tongue with sawdust and filling his head with wool. “Hermione,” he forced out, as the feeling overtook him. “I need Hermione Granger.”

Spinnet nodded and left to get her, leaving Harry alone with the feeling. It hit him rather suddenly, what the feeling was. It was desperation, it was pain, and it was betrayal.

Hermione peered through the portrait hole, looking wholly confused. She took one look at Harry’s face and stepped out, wrapping him into a hug, and surrounding his senses with the familiarity of wildflowers and soap.

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

“You were right.” he choked out, taking a ragged breath, and fighting to keep tears from falling. “You were right about Snape.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione murmured, rubbing her thumb across his shoulder. “How can you be sure about that? What happened?”

Harry pulled back to stare at Hermione in disbelief. “You kept saying it was him – you were so sure – and now you don’t think so?”

“I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Harry shrugged and tried to pull himself together. It was ridiculous to fall apart like this. What did it matter if Snape betrayed him? He should have known better. This was his own fault. He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who never cared about him. He _knew_ he couldn’t trust adults about anything. He had been so stupid. He shouldn’t care. So why did it hurt so much?

He tried to school his face into a vague scowl, because anger was the only other emotion he could feel. The only emotion that made sense. His lips trembled as he recounted the conversation he had overheard in the forest.

“He really said that?” Hermione asked, her eyes darkening in anger.

“You and Draco were both right.” Harry mumbled, staring at the ground. “It is a Philosopher’s Stone – and they both want it. They’re working together, but it sounds like Quirrell is having second thoughts.”

“Maybe we should try to convince him ourselves.” Hermione began slowly. “If we can just get him to back out – Dumbledore would believe another professor before us – then we can stop Snape. At least, Dumbledore will make sure the Stone stays safe.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Harry sighed. “If Snape wants the stone, why does he need Quirrell’s help? And what do I have to do with all of this?”

“Quirrell _is_ the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Hermione pointed out. “There are probably loads of enchantments guarding the stone – I know that’s what I would do. The stone is considered priceless – Snape probably needs his help dismantling them.”

“I guess.”

“I don’t know what he means by _he is weak_ , though.”

Harry stopped listening as another thought entered his mind. “He took me to see my parents.” he breathed, feeling his heart clench.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, gently.

“Snape.” Harry whispered, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. “He took me to Godric’s Hollow over Christmas break, to see their graves.”

Hermione hugged him again.

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang out, as she hurried down the hallway and towards the portrait.

“Slytherins!” the Fat Lady shouted. “Slytherins trying to get in!”

“I’m not trying to get in!” Harry insisted, but his lungs were aching for air and he couldn’t told the tears off any longer, and his words just didn’t sound like words at all. His heart ached for his parents, for someone he could trust.

“Mr. Potter?” McGonagall looked down at the pair. “What is going on?”

“I just needed Hermione.” Harry mumbled.

“Slytherins!” the Fat Lady shouted again.

“That’s enough, Elizabeth.” Professor McGonagall scolded, returning her attention to the two students. “Are you alright, Mr. Potter?”

Harry wanted to nod his head and tell Hermione he should be on his way. He wanted to return to his dormitory and spell the bed curtains shut. He wanted to cover himself with his invisibility cloak and pretend he didn’t exist.

But he couldn’t.

He could have sunk to his knees if it weren’t for Hermione. It seemed Harry’s life was destined to be full of awful people who did awful things to him. The Dursley’s never wanted him around. They would mock him, and starve him, and shove him into a cupboard under the stairs. They would push him around, and hit him, and make him bleed red. The Dursley’s were awful people, but at least they never pretended to like Harry.

Professor Snape had lied to him. He pretended to enjoy Harry’s company over cups of tea, when really, he was just distracting him. He was using him for something Harry didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. He just wanted to know why – why everyone saw him as nothing more than a nuisance and something they could use to their advantage. He just wanted to know why—

“Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall interrupted his thoughts.

Harry couldn’t speak. His throat had closed up, blocking the words from getting out and the air from coming in. He grasped at his throat, eyes wide, as he silently pleaded for help. He was shaking and a small part of him _knew_ he was overreacting. He had to breathe, he had to think, he had to talk to Snape and _demand_ answers.

He deserved that much.

He couldn’t make out the voices around him anymore. He could barely register his surroundings. He thought he felt his feet move, thought he felt a hand on his back, but he didn’t see the walls move past him. He didn’t even see the walls. The light seemed to get brighter all of a sudden – whiter and stark. He did, however, feel something cool press against his lips.

It filled his mouth and he swallowed out of instinct. He could have sighed in relief when the weight was lifted from his chest. He could finally breathe and he greedily swallowed mouthfuls of oxygen as if he were a drowning man.

“Mr. Potter, can you look at me?”

Harry began to register what was taking place and he looked up in confusion. He was exhausted and his head hurt, and he realized belatedly that he was sitting on a cot inside the infirmary. He looked around and found Hermione and Professor McGonagall standing nearby.

He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

He had overreacted again.

He had let his emotions run away with him, without even stopping to consider if they made any sense. He should have gone to Draco first – to Blaise – to someone who always looked for a reason and questioned everything. He should have gone to someone who would have planted doubt and forced him to think. Instead, he had gone to Hermione and let their conspiring imaginations run away together.

He grimaced. “I’m fine.”

“Do you need water?” Madame Pomfrey asked.

“Please.”

He was accepting the paper cup when the door burst open and Professor Snape strolled in. His face was stoic, but his eyes flitted with worry. He ignored everyone else in the room and went straight to Harry, appraising him carefully.

“Are you alright?”

“He’s fine, Severus.” Madame Pomfrey assured, sounding absolutely miffed as Snape took Harry’s arm and pressed two fingers against the inside of his wrist. “It was just another panic attack – albeit a rather bad one, by the looks of it.”

“What happened?” he demanded. “He never goes to the infirmary over this.”

“Minerva brought him in.”

Snape turned on his heel and regarded the Gryffindor Head of House. “Well?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much, Severus.” she apologized. “There was word that a Slytherin was trying to get into the common room and when I arrived, I found these two in front of the portrait. Potter was already in a state.”

“I wasn’t in a state.” Harry argued.

“Were you trying to get into the Gryffindor Common Room, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked silkily, returning to Harry’s bedside. Poppy was running a diagnostic spell, merely to show Severus she could do her own job just fine.

“No, sir.” Harry promised. “I just needed to see Hermione.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m fine.” Harry shrugged. “I was just overreacting. It was nothing, okay? You know they just happen sometimes.”

Snape nodded.

“Madame Pomfrey gave me a Calming Draught.” he continued, feeling hurt and confusion battle in his head. Professor Snape didn’t care about him, but the way the professor gazed worriedly at him made him question everything he had overheard. “I want to return to my common room. I don’t like being here.”

“Very well.”

Snape turned to Poppy for confirmation and led his snake out of the infirmary. As they ambled down the corridor, the professor cleared his throat. “You may follow me to my quarters, if you prefer to be somewhere quiet.”

“I just want to go to bed.”

“I’m quite aware of the victory party currently taking place in the common room.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Very well, then.”

They walked in silence towards the dungeons, the fire under Harry extinguished. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was exhausted and listless and he just didn’t care. It’s not like anyone ever cared about him anyway – what else was new?

“Is there something you have to say, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked irritably, when Harry had sighed for the third time.

Harry looked up, contemplating his options. “Why did you take me to see my parents?” he finally asked, because if anything was the truth, it was the way Snape’s eyes flashed with hurt at the thought of Lily Potter.

“Do you regret that?”

“Do you?” Harry countered.

Snape’s eyes darkened but he didn’t say anything. They kept walking and Harry thought he would scream if it weren’t for the Calming Draught. He wanted – no, he _needed_ answers. He just didn’t know how to get them. The fire relit.

“I saw you with Quirrell.” he finally blurted out, cursing his stupidity.

“Pardon?”

“You met Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest.” Harry bit out – he might as well finish what he started. “I heard your conversation.”

Snape’s eyes hardened and his irises seemed pitch black. “Mr. Potter, it was my understanding that it was called the Forbidden Forest. Tell me, did I miss the memo where they changed it to the Welcoming Forest? Or perhaps you thought the rules just didn’t apply to you?”

“No, I just—” Harry broke off angrily. “This isn’t about me breaking the rules!”

“You can be just like your father sometimes.” Snape sneered, looking down at him. “He also thought it didn’t matter if he broke the rules or not.”

“Don’t bring him into this!” Harry shouted. “I don’t know why you don’t like him, but I don’t care! He’s dead and now, now I have no one! I thought I had you, but apparently I was wrong.”

“If you don’t calm yourself, I will force another Calming Draught down your throat.” Snape warned, as he looked down the corridor. He pulled out his wand and drew a silent arc. “It’s a privacy spell.” he informed his student, when Harry looked at him questioningly.

“I will not calm down!”

Snape sighed.

“I know, I’m just like my father.” Harry muttered. “He too liked to shout at people when he was reasonably angry.”

“That’s more like your mother, actually.” Snape commented softly, completely derailing Harry’s argument.

“What?”

Professor Snape merely sighed.

“No, forget it, that’s not important.” Harry shook his head. “There’s no reason for me to believe anything you say. I heard you!”

“If you’re not going to believe anything I say, you should reconsider what you overheard.” Snape returned, his voice barely a whisper. “You are truly a stupid child, if you think you know everything, Mr. Potter.”

“I don’t understand.”

Snape straightened up and cancelled the surrounding spell. “There are things happening that I don’t expect you to understand. Remember what I told you and let me take care of it.” He turned on his heel and left with a billow of his robes.

Harry muttered a bewildered goodbye and continued to the common room. There was music playing and colored lights flitting about. He could see a table laden with food, behind the throng of Slytherins dancing about.

“Good game, Potter!” Cassius Warrington called out, as Harry tried to go to his dormitory. Cassius was holding a hand of playing cards.

“Did you get into the Gryffindor Common Room?” Adrian asked, as he placed a card in the center of the table they were sitting around.

“What?”

“The portraits were talking about it.” Terrence Higgs raised a disapproving eyebrow. “We heard about it when we were stocking up the snack table. The entire school will know by breakfast.”

“But we aren’t allowed in the kitchens.”

“That’s why you don’t get caught.” Adrian laughed. “Which is something you could benefit from learning. I see Snape brought you back. How much trouble did you get into?”

“I wasn’t trying to break in!”

Adrian cocked an eyebrow. “Sure you weren’t, kid.”

“He brought me back from the infirmary.”

“Did you get hit during the game?” Cassius asked.

“Something like that.” Harry mumbled, turning to look at the snack table. He could make out a pile of pasties and pitchers of pumpkin juice. “Professor Snape knows you’re having a party, by the way.”

“Of course he does.” Adrian muttered.

“Well, I did tell him.” Terrence shrugged, putting his hands up when both Adrian and Cassius turned to glare accusingly. “What? It’s a little thing I like to call _saving my own arse_.”

Harry used the distraction to slip away. He found Draco and Blaise sitting cross-legged on Draco’s bed, balancing cups of tea and a plate of biscuits.

“There you are.” Blaise commented, unfolding his legs.

“Where were you?”

Harry grimaced. “In the infirmary, mostly.”

“What happened?” Draco jumped out of bed, setting his cup on the side table.

“Oh, you know.” Harry shrugged. “The usual.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter, though.” Harry shrugged again, pulling at the hem of his jumper. His hands were tugged away by Draco’s, who was glaring at him.

“Don’t do that to my jumper, or I’ll take it back.”

“Sorry.”

Draco nodded sympathetically, before glaring again. “Wait, what did I tell you about ending up in the hospital wing?”

“That it was too stressful for you, _if_ you knew.”

Blaise was studying Harry carefully. “Something happened, didn’t it? What was it?”

“You don’t even want to know.” Harry sighed, throwing himself onto his bed and kicking off his shoes. He stared at the folds of the curtains, once again thankful for the Calming Draught. He counted to three and told them about his latest misadventure.

“I can’t believe you went to Granger about this.” Draco muttered. “You literally just told me I was your best friend.”

“Draco, you are, but—”

“But what?” Draco asked haughtily. “You realize you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you just came to us? Granger doesn’t need to be told she’s right, especially when she’s so wrong about it.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Clearly.”

Blaise sighed. “That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is what he thinks now – what we think now.” he turned to Harry. “What do you believe? Was Snape telling the truth in the clearing or leading him on?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Perhaps Snape wants answers, just like the rest of us.” Blaise explained. “If you weren’t getting them, wouldn’t you pretend to be on someone’s side? It’s a pretty brilliant tactic, really. Quirrell believes Snape to be on his side and tells him what he needs to know.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“How were you not sorted in Gryffindor?” Blaise asked, with a smirk.

“How were you not in Ravenclaw?” Harry shot back, tiredly.

“You still haven’t told us,” Draco spoke up. “What part do you think Snape was lying about?”

Harry pulled the blanket to his chin and turned over. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. It makes sense, what Blaise said, but Merlin, he sounded so believable.”

“Think about it, Harry.” Draco sighed. “It doesn’t make sense for him to lie to you for months like that. He had to be lying to Quirrell.”

Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments let me know you care


	17. The Baby Dragon.

Things were different these days, but it was for the best.

It had been a few weeks since Severus left Harry in the corridor outside the Slytherin Common Room, and it had been a few weeks since they had really spoken last. The only time they spoke was during Potions, and even then, the conversation never steered away from the assignment at hand.

“You have one hour to complete this potion.” Snape concluded the lesson plan, waving his wand and unlocking the necessary cabinets. “You may work in pairs, but I shall determine whether or not you both get credit. I will not tolerate encompassing your partner to do all the work.”

He watched as his students reviewed their notes and gathered their ingredients. He watched as Draco returned to his table with an armful of jars and nudged Harry cautiously.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Draco asked his friend, as he unscrewed a small jar and fished out two speckled slugs with a grimace. He had gotten better at dealing with the messier ingredients, at least.

Harry shrugged listlessly.

Snape frowned as he eyed the paper Harry had been writing on. He hadn’t been taking notes at all, but drawing what seemed like the Forbidden Forest beyond the shores of the Black Lake. He knew he needed to berate the child for slacking off, but still he hesitated.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape finally approached the pair and eyed the drawing under Harry’s quill. “It seems you’ve neglected to take any notes this morning. Or are you such a brilliant Potions student, that you’ve committed them to memory?”

Harry looked up to him, his eyes begging for more than just a sneer. When nothing else came, he merely nodded and turned his parchment around, finally starting on the notes.

Snape sighed, but walked away.

There were times when he wanted to reach out to the boy, who had since retreated further into himself. He rarely talked to anyone outside of Draco and Blaise, and from a teacher’s standpoint, it was worrying.

When class ended, Harry lingered for a minute longer, as if he wanted the classroom to empty of everyone but the two of them. For a moment, Severus wanted to indulge the boy and let him ask the questions that burned behind green eyes, but he knew better.

He left the room instead, leaving his estranged student alone in the classroom until Draco gave in and escorted him out. He could hear the child sniffling in the corridor, as they walked past his office, but he bit his tongue and let them pass.

It was safer this way.

If anything, he could only afford to worry about Harry Potter during their once-a-week lessons. The rest of the time, his thoughts were consumed with the potential return of the Dark Lord.

He had a part of play, a part he had neglected for a short while, but Severus was confident that none was the wiser. Quirrell wasn’t faring any better than last month and Severus wondered idly if the man would even survive long enough for the Dark Lord to get his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone.

He fervently hoped he wouldn’t.

When the corridor was finally empty of students, Severus locked the classroom door and retreated to his private lab. He pulled out the half-filled journal Potter had gifted him and opened it to the latest page.

He used it to write down the experimental recipes that flitted across his mind whenever inspiration stuck, setting them aside for the moment when he could devote time into balancing formulas and testing reactions. He was desperately trying to work out a faux Elixir of Life.

He needed everything – the taste, the color, the consistency – to match every detail that had ever been recorded about the Elixir, for if the Dark Lord succeeded, no doubt Severus would be requested to eventually brew it.

He had proved his loyalties to the Dark Lord after that confrontation with Quirrell, a confrontation that had solved more than one problem, and the man had stopped playing ignorant of what was brewing ahead.

“I w-would let you m-meet him, Se-Severus.” Quirrell had stuttered one night, when they both found themselves at the top of the Astronomy Tower, “but he do-does not wi-wish for anyone to see him in this sta-state.”

“I understand.” Severus had murmured, letting his face contort with longing.

“He says y-you will be repaid most gr-greatly.”

“His return is payment enough.”

Severus left Quirinus alone and promptly retched into one of the bathrooms before reporting to Dumbledore what had just taken place. Quirrell might have left out what sort of state the Dark Lord was in, but the prickling of Dark Magic that danced down Severus’ left arm was enough to let him know he was near.

“You look quite ill, my boy.” Dumbledore appraised the Slytherin Head of House. “He is getting stronger, is he not?”

“I have no idea how.” Severus admitted angrily, for he hated not knowing.

“What of the potion?”

“The potion is –.” Severus trailed off, as he was cast out of his thoughts and back into present day. He regarded the overflowing mess of peach foam. “The potion is ruined.”

He vanished the contents of the cauldron and picked up his quill. “Mercury does not react well with wormwood and saffron. Need better catalyst.” Severus eyed the ingredients he had laid out as possible matches, focusing on the asphodel. “Perhaps powdered asphodel as inhibitor?”

He tried again.

The asphodel slowed down the reaction, allowing wormwood to break down as the mercury came to a boil. The brew was a pale scarlet and bubbling at the edges, but at least it hadn’t succumbed to that wretched foam. He cast a shield charm and added the juice of thirteen crushed sopophorous beans.

It exploded.

“Well, that didn’t work.” Severus muttered angrily.

He skimmed through his altered version of Draught of Living Death and one of two textbooks he could find that even mentioned the Elixir of Life. He wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard; the only thing written about the god damned Elixir was its brilliant red color and sweet taste. He could simply brew a Pepper-Up potion that didn’t steam at the ears and add crushed freesia flowers.

He was doing this for his own pride.

He just wanted to be able to brew the Elixir of Life, a potion made from the Draught of Living Death and a broken down Philosopher’s Stone, to prove he could. But Severus didn’t have a Philosopher’s Stone he could dissolve and was forced to improvise with the only known ingredients – mercury infused with saffron and spirit of niter. It wasn’t even likely the Dark Lord would ever get the Stone.

Severus sighed, vanishing the contents of the cauldron once more.

He had one more variation that he had come up with today, and it involved cancelling out the effects of recently-picked wolfsbane flowers with mandrake root. The former had been near impossible to find and by the time the potion had come together in a red and floral brew, Severus could feel the toxicity of the ingredients settling in his throat.

“It looks right…” he trailed off, as he noted the seeming success. He wanted to try it, to see if it tasted like the sweet fruit the textbooks claimed, but he knew Albus would not approve and that Poppy would bring him back and kill him twice over if it proved fatalistic.

Instead, he poured a measure over a trio of wilted plants he had gotten from Pomona. He sighed in frustration as the flowers turned brittle, instead of flourishing. The headache forming on his temple told him that enough was enough, so he vanished the contents of the cauldron and closed his books. He needed to get fresh air before the blatant exposure to mercury and wolfsbane became too much.

“Tempus.” he cast, as he shrugged into his coat and removed the tie from his hair.

He was rather surprised to find it was five minutes after six already, when he had entered the lab right before lunch. It seemed he had truly lost track of time. He ignored the ache in his lungs and ventured into the Great Hall instead, for he felt the need to check up on Harry Potter.

“Severus.” Minerva greeted him, as he took a seat beside her.

“Minerva.”

The Great Hall was livelier than usual tonight, as the older students whispered excitedly amongst themselves. His headache threatened to worsen as all the voices blended into an indiscernible hum.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m absolutely perfect.” Snape bit out, as the clattering of silverware grated on his nerves. He sipped from his water glass and glared at the transgressing students. He noticed that Harry Potter wasn’t present.

“Oh, come off it.” Minerva chuckled, as she caught sight of the scowl on his face. “They’re just excited for their trip into Hogsmeade tomorrow. Speaking of,” she continued, “I would like you to join me for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s a Saturday, Severus!” McGonagall chided. “Surely you can pull yourself away from your work long enough to have lunch with me at the Three Broomsticks.” she paused, eyeing him carefully. “If you don’t, it might accidentally slip to Poppy how little I’ve seen you at meals.”

Severus turned to glower at her. “You wouldn’t.”

Minerva shrugged nonchalantly, as she speared a green bean unto her fork. “You could use a little sunlight, you know. You’re too pale.”

“And you’re exceedingly persistent, woman.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” the Gryffindor Head of House smirked, returning to her meal. “You barely venture out of your classroom these days.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy.” Snape muttered, as he caught sight of a particular trio of Slytherins slipping into their seats. He watched as two of the three began eating and narrowed his eyes at the looks they all gave each other. Something was up.

Dinner was a rather silent affair for the threesome, despite the excitement emanating from the third years and above. It never occurred to Harry to ask what half the school was so excited about, as his thoughts were being consumed by something else.

“You have to eat more.” Blaise instructed suddenly.

“I’m not hungry.” Harry frowned at his plate, where he had created a bland-colored mash of potatoes and chicken.

“Professor Snape is glaring at you.”

“Professor Snape is always glaring at me these days.” Harry muttered darkly, as he turned to catch his Head of House’s stare. Snape raised an eyebrow in disapproval and deftly turned back to Professor McGonagall.

He sighed and continued to push his food around.

“He still won’t talk to you?” Blaise asked gently, as he wrapped up two dinner rolls and slipped them into his robe pocket for Harry later.

“No.”

“He probably has a good reason to.” Draco offered.

“I don’t care anymore.” Harry pushed his plate aside and stood up. “I want to go back to the common room.”

“Let’s go then.”

Harry tried to catch Professor Snape’s eyes once more, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He bit his lip and shrugged, following Draco and Blaise to the dungeons. He thought that maybe he could trust Snape and that the thing with Quirrell was just a misunderstanding. Yet, ever since their conversation – argument, really – in the corridor, Snape changed.

They just didn’t talk anymore.

He had been sad at first, right until this morning, and then, he wasn’t.

He didn’t care.

Everyone let him down sooner or later, and besides, Harry had other things to worry about now:

“Hagrid has a bloody dragon’s egg!” Draco all but shouted, as Blaise locked the door to their dormitory, saying aloud what had been on their minds since they entered the Great Hall.

“He _won_ a dragon’s egg.” Harry corrected.

They had gone to the library with Hermione after their Herbology class, intent on finding a good book for their latest group project before all the relevant ones where checked out, when they ran into Hagrid.

It was rather curious, as the half-giant rarely ventured past the Great Hall, let alone into the library. Harry had gone over to say hello and Hagrid had replied by immediately hiding the book he was holding behind his back.

“Gryffindors.” Draco had muttered. “They’re not subtle in the least.”

“What’s that, Hagrid?”

“Oh, nothin’. Just lookin’ for a goo’ book to read, is all.” Hagrid shrugged, nonchalantly.

“Hagrid, all these books are about dragon-breeding.” Hermione pointed out, narrowing her eyes in suspicion from the table she was sitting at.

“I don’t even want to know how you know that without actually looking at the shelf.” Draco muttered under his breath, appraising the curly-haired Gryffindor with disbelief.

“All books are sorted according to the Dewey Decimal System,” Hermione explained, as if it were obvious. She pointed to a series of numbers that labeled the shelf. “Once you’ve got the numbers memorized, it makes searching for books extremely easy.”

“Of course it does.”

“Hagrid?”

He had eventually given in and led them back to his hut, making them promise that they wouldn’t tell a soul about the dragon egg he had won during a card game last night.

“Will ye help me?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione grimaced. “I mean, I don’t want your house to burn down and a dragon is a very big responsibility for one person…”

“Hagrid, owning your own dragon is illegal.” Blaise pointed out, flatly. “You could get in serious trouble with the Ministry if they find out.”

“Oh, but I’ve always wanted a dragon!”

“Hagrid.” Harry mumbled, as he watched the flames dance around the black egg. His neck prickled uncomfortably as he realized this wasn’t something he wished to do. “Where would you even keep a dragon? They’re huge.”

“No’ the baby ones.”

“They don’t stay baby forever.” Draco reminded him.

They both looked at Blaise for an escape, and the boy offered a half-attempted excuse before ushering his friends out and leaving Hermione and Hagrid alone with the dragon egg.

“What are we going to do?” Harry asked, as he kicked off his shoes.

“Pretend we don’t know anything?”

“Look,” Blaise let out a breath. “I like Hagrid and all, but if we get involved, we’ll likely get expelled.”

“I know.”

“So we’re going to pretend we don’t know anything, right?” Draco repeated.

“Yeah.”

They both looked to Harry, who bit his lip and eventually nodded in agreement.

\--

It wasn’t until a few days before the Easter holiday that the dragon egg was mentioned again, only by this time, it was an actual dragon.

Harry was coming back from the library, a book about the goblin wars in hand, when he was flagged down by Hermione Granger.

“Goblin Wars?” she asked, pursing her lips.

Harry shrugged. “Blaise isn’t giving up his notes, so it looks like we’re gonna have to actually do our own research for this next exam.”

“It’s about time.”

“Did you want something, Hermione?” Harry asked, slightly annoyed. Draco was still holding it over his head that Harry once promised him Blaise’s notes, and was, of course, refusing to partake in the research.

“I’m in need of a favor, actually.”

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity as she ushered him further down the empty corridor and glanced around for eavesdroppers. “Hagrid’s dragon is getting rather big.”

“It hatched?”

“About two weeks ago.” Hermione nodded. “I’m quite worried it’s going to burn his house down, you know. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out.”

“You’ve got to get rid of it.”

“That’s what we’re having trouble figuring out.”

“And you need my help because…?”

Hermione bit her lip. “You’re friends with Ron Weasley, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it true that one of his older brothers works at a dragon reserve?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Yeah, Charlie!” Harry confirmed. “Oh, I see.” Harry paused. “You need me to talk to Ron, so he’ll talk to Charlie, so he’ll come get the dragon? Are you trying to smuggle it out? Someone is bound to see, you know?”

“And someone is bound to see Hagrid’s hut catching fire.” Hermione returned. “It’s the only plan we’ve got and the only plan Hagrid has agreed to. He doesn’t want the dragon being shipped off just anywhere.”

Harry thought it over. “And what do I get out of it?”

Hermione’s eyes glittered. “ _If_ we get caught, there will be no mention of your name at all.”

“How do I know Ron won’t say anything?”

“He won’t.”

“I don’t know, ‘Mione.” Harry murmured. “There are too many loose ends in this plan of yours.”

“And I’ll give you my History of Magic notes.”

“Deal.”

Harry waited outside the Gryffindor Common Room while Hermione fetched Ron Weasley, who peered through the portrait hole before breaking into a full-mouthed grin and bounded towards Harry.

“How’s it going, mate?”

“Hullo, Ron.” Harry greeted the smiling red-head. “Listen, I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask you.”

\--

“There’s a dragon in Hagrid’s hut.” Harry whispered breathily, as he watched Hagrid lure the sand-colored fledgling into an iron-wrought cage with gentle coaxing and a bit of meat.

“Harry, you’ve known about him since it was an egg.” Hermione chided, watching as the dragon made a coughing noise. They stepped back when it gave a tiny burst of flames, singeing the end of Hagrid’s sleeve.

“That’s my sweetie.” Hagrid beamed, tossing the treat into the cage and locking the door behind the creature. “Momma’s gonn’ miss you, Norbert.”

“Norbert?”

“That’s his name.” Hermione whispered back.

Hagrid turned to face the two first years with teary eyes. “I’m really gonna miss ‘im.”

“I know, Hagrid.” Hermione soothed. “But, it’s for the best. He’s going to get big soon and Hogwarts isn’t the best place to keep him.”

“Maybe Charlie will let you visit him.” Harry added, helpfully.

Hagrid nodded.

“Now, we’ve got to get back to the castle.” Hermione eyed the cherry red clock on the mantle, “but I’ll be back with Ron Weasley just before midnight.”

Weasley had accepted the favor without any payment – something Draco would have sneered about, no doubt – before returning inside to pen a letter to his older brother. Charlie had written back a few days later with a plan: smuggle the dragon to the tallest tower at thirty minutes past midnight on the Friday of Easter break, and he would come by with a few friends to pick it up.

Harry walked Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower and bid her goodnight, before returning to the dungeons. He slipped into his own common room dangerously close to curfew.

“Where have you been?” Draco asked, as he rubbed a towel through wet hair, freshly showered and in pajamas.

“Oh, around.”

“You smell like Hagrid’s.” Blaise narrowed his eyes. “Why do you smell like Hagrid’s?”

Harry blanked.

“I thought we agreed to stay out of that problem?”

“They’re getting rid of it.” Harry burst out, the back of his neck prickling. “Tonight. They’re getting rid of the dragon tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“I helped plan it.” Harry answered lamely, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the floor. “We planned it a week ago.”

“Harry.”

“Hermione just needed me to talk to Ron!” Harry defended himself, even though no one was yelling at him. “His brother works at a dragon reserve. She just wanted help asking for a favor, since they’re not really friends.”

“I thought Weasley hated Granger?” Draco asked, curiously.

“Not since I talked to him about it.” Harry shrugged. “He’s come around.”

“Why were you at Hagrid’s?” Blaise repeated the question.

“I wanted to see the dragon before they took it.” Harry muttered. “I’ve never seen one before and why does it matter if I went? It doesn’t concern you.”

“Because it’s illegal, Harry!” Blaise burst out, exasperated. “And because you’re my friend and I don’t want you to get in trouble over silly favors.”

“Oh.”

“How are they getting rid of it?” Draco asked, diverting the attention back to him.

“Hermione and Ron are sneaking back to Hagrid’s later, picking up the dragon, and taking it to the landing on the astronomy tower. Charlie will come by after midnight to smuggle it across the country.”

“Please tell me you haven’t agreed to be part of that escapade.” Blaise grimaced. “They’ll get expelled if they’re caught with a dragon.”

“No! The only thing I’ve done was ask Ron a favor for Hermione – who gave me her History of Magic notes for, by the way – and seeing Norbert for less than ten minutes!”

“So, Weasley’s part of the escapade?” Draco asked, his lips curling into a sly grin. “And Hagrid named the dragon Norbert?” he added carelessly, almost like an afterthought.

“Yeah.”

Draco nodded softly, yawning. “Well, I’m off to bed then.”

“I’m going to take a shower.” Harry decided, wondering just what ‘you smell like Hagrid’s’ meant, as he gathered clean pants and pajamas.

“Night, Harry.”

“Night.”

Harry shut the bathroom door behind him, missing the whispered argument between his two friends before Draco pulled his bed curtains shut with a huff.

He hurried through washing himself, dried himself off, and slipped into shorts and an oversized t-shirt. When he returned to his room, the lights were shut off and both bed-curtains were drawn.

Harry sighed, getting into bed.

It seemed he could never do anything right.

The hours creeped by and Harry was still trying to get comfortable. He had promised Blaise he wouldn’t get involved any more than he already had, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the smuggling that was about to take place.

Harry was finally starting to drift off when he heard the bed beside him creak and the sound of footsteps padding on the wooden floor. He strained his ears, listening to the unmistakable swish of fabric and the click of the door.

“Draco?” Harry called out, pulling his bed curtain back, only to find the blond’s curtains were still drawn shut. He crept out of bed and pulled back the emerald hangings, staring in confusion at the lump under the covers. “You’re not Draco.” he told the pillows hiding underneath.

“Blaise?” he called out a little louder, and he received a mumbled reply in something that didn’t sound remotely like English. “Blaise!”

“What do you want, Potter?” Blaise muttered, sleepily.

“Where’s Draco?”

“He went to get Weasley expelled or something.” Blaise shrugged in annoyance. He had tried to talk the boy out of it, but Malfoy was a stubborn piece of work. He turned over and went back to sleep; it wasn’t his problem.

Harry’s eyes widened in panic and he rifled through his trunk as loudly as he dared, pulling out the cloak of shimmering silver and throwing it over his head. Once invisible, he ventured into the common room, in bare feet, and called Draco’s name, but the blond wasn’t there anymore.  
  
“For the love of Merlin, Draco.” Harry sighed and hurried out of the common room, wincing as he felt the hum of magic that made up the protective wards over the dungeon entrance. If Harry didn’t find Draco fast, Professor Snape would.

The castle seemed bigger at night, but Harry knew where he had to go. He hurried to the Astronomy Tower as quickly as he could, looking for any sign of Draco in the dim corridors.

He was nearing the final staircase when he saw him tucked behind a gleaming suit of armor, his face pinched in a terrified grimace. At the other end of the corridor was Professor Snape, who was shining his lit wand behind every statue as he did patrol of the castle.

“Draco!” Harry whispered, trying to garner the blond’s attention without startling him. If he could get him to move away from the knight just the slightest, Harry could drape the invisibility cloak over his friend without making any other noise. “Draco, take a step to the left and I’ll hide you.”

Draco did as told and Harry cringed as he realized that Draco’s left was not his own left at the moment, and watched in horror as the blond bumped into the knight, toppling it over with the sound of crashing metal.

“Who’s there?” Snape snarled, pointing his wand light at the offending statue. He crept closer and his lips curled into a cold smile. “Why, Mr. Malfoy…” he drawled out, eyeing the gray coat over silk pajamas. “What a pleasure to have you here.”

“Sir.” Draco swallowed heavily. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

“I highly doubt that, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Weasley’s up in the Astronomy Tower, you see, and –”

“Don’t tell him!” Harry yelled out, dropping his invisibility cloak and kicking it out of the way, vehemently hoping Professor Snape wouldn’t notice it. “Draco, please.”

“How kind of you to join us, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape arched an eyebrow, slightly startled at the sudden entrance. Before he could say anything else, another voice rang out.

“Students out of bed!” Filch called out, as he came down from the Astronomy Tower with Ron and Hermione. They were empty-handed, thankfully, the dragon long-gone. “Students out of –” he paused, as he caught sight of the Potions Master with two more students and broke into a grin. “I didn’t realize Christmas had repeated itself!” he cried gleefully. “What shall we do with them, Severus? Hang them from the rafters? Pull out their fingernails? Should I get the whips?”

“That won’t be necessary, Argus.” Severus waved the man off, tiredly. He didn’t want to deal with this and he had questions about the cloak. “Detention, all of you, and one hundred points will be taken from both houses.” he paused. “Professor McGonagall will be made aware of your transgression in the morning and the appropriate punishment will be doled out. Argus, if you could escort these two back to Gryffindor Tower?”

“It would be a pleasure.”

The three left and Severus returned to glaring at his two Slytherins, but found he couldn’t put enough anger behind it. He was far too tired. “Back to your common room, then. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

“Um, sir.” Harry mumbled nervously. “What about my, uh…”

“You won’t be getting this back, Mr. Potter.” Snape bit out, already realizing it was an invisibility cloak. How the boy got it, he had no idea.

“But it’s mine!”

“Is it now?” Snape asked dangerously.

Harry shrugged and stayed silent, his heart aching as he realized he was losing yet another part of his father. It hurt even more when he realized this was the most Snape had spoken to him in weeks.

 _You don’t care_ , he reminded himself, as he followed his best friend and former mentor downstairs in tense silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, this is like six months late, but idfc


	18. The Forbidden Forest.

“What the fuck happened?!”

“Language, Mr. Flint.” Professor Snape scolded, as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. He had been unable to sleep last night and was attending purely for the coffee. His gaze flickered towards the hourglasses, sneering at the meager amount of emeralds. His job was difficult enough these days, without having to worry about brainless children getting themselves into trouble.

“Sorry, professor.” Marcus Flint mumbled, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “But what happened last night?”

Professor Snape turned to glance at Harry, who was clutching the hem of his jumper tightly. “Perhaps you should ask your star seeker.” he commented airily, before leaving the conversation behind and joining Minerva at the staff table with a smirk.

He knew his Slytherins would not cause a scene.

“Potter?” Flint turned to glare at the messy-haired boy. “What did you do?”

Harry shrugged, feeling his throat close up. It was so hard for people to like him, simply because Dudley always made sure they didn’t. Now that he was far away from his bullying cousin, he had messed up on his own.

“Potter!”

“Lay off, Flint.” Adrian Pucey intercepted, taking a seat beside the trembling first-year. He reached for the jar of raspberry preserves. “You’re scaring him.”

“I’m not scared.” Harry mumbled, still looking down at his lap. He swallowed and looked up, forcing himself not to hesitate at the angry scowl that faced him. “We broke curfew.”

“We?”

“Potter and I.” Malfoy spoke up, putting down the piece of toast he was tearing to pieces. He looked up at Flint and returned the glare.

“Hufflepuff is in the lead because you lost us a fuck-ton of points!”

“And we’ll get them back.” Pucey told him, soft anger lacing his tone. “Gryffindor is far worse than we are, and we’re still above Ravenclaw.”

Harry turned to look at the hourglasses for the first time since Blaise dragged him into the Great Hall this morning. He cringed at the diminished pile of emeralds, but realized Adrian was right. Gryffindor had been struggling for weeks now.

Flint made an annoyed sound, but let it go.

“He’s such an ass in the morning.” Adrian muttered to himself, giving his first-year teammate an apologetic smile before getting up to sit next to Cassius Warrington, taking the jar of jam with him.

“Well, that could have been worse.” Blaise broke the tense silence cheerily, reaching out to put two pieces of buttered toast on Harry’s plate.

“Like he’s going to try anything here.” Draco pointed out, darkly. “I’m still not letting my guard down anytime soon.”

“You wouldn’t have to keep it up if you had just stayed in your room.”

“Shut it, Blaise.”

“No, Blaise is right.” Harry spoke up, locking eyes with his best friend. They were still best friends, right? Harry wasn’t really sure. “You did a really stupid thing.”

“You broke curfew too!” Draco bit out. “And you’ve done it before!”

“To see my parents!” Harry burst out, cheeks flushing as a few Slytherins turned to stare at him curiously. “To see my parents’ reflection,” he amended quietly, thinking back to the stupid mirror he had stumbled across over winter hols. He had eventually told his friends about it, after a particular nightmare had piqued Draco’s interest. “And this isn’t about breaking curfew. This is about the fact that you tried to get my friend expelled!”

Draco merely glared.

“You’re such a stupid prat. I don’t know why I’m friends with you!” Harry let the words tumble out of his mouth, before realizing what he had just done. His eyes widened and he looked at Draco pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to say that!”

“No, you’re right.” Draco sighed, reaching across the table to take Harry’s hand. The raven-haired boy was staring at him open-mouthed, panic flitting across his eyes. “I was being stupid and selfish and a prat. You’re allowed other friends and I don’t get to control that. I would understand if you hated me because of it.”

Blaise arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Harry stared at their intertwining hands, feeling the panic settle in his chest. _Nice going, Harry. You’ve never had any friends and now that someone actually wants to be your friend, you go and tell them that!_ He swallowed back the creeping hysteria. _This isn’t about you Harry, it’s about the friend who’s feelings you’ve just hurt._ “I’m sorry I said that.” he told Draco sadly.

“Consider it even for what I nearly did to Weasley.”

“Fine.”

Draco let go of his hand and returned to his decimated pile of bread. “I was going to turn back,” he admitted, “when I realized I would get Herm- Granger in trouble too. She’s not too bad, I guess. I’d probably miss her if she got expelled.” the blond shrugged. “But Snape came out of nowhere and well, my arse before theirs.”

Harry nodded, looking towards the Gryffindor table, and noticing all the dirty looks Hermione and Ron were receiving. They were sitting at the end of the table, a considerable distance between them and the others. They were talking to each other, at least, and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. He smiled, glad Hermione had a friend in her own house.

“That wasn’t nice.” Blaise mouthed, as Harry’s attention was across the room.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Draco returned.

Blaise blinked. “Manipulating.” he emphasized the word, not letting any sound escape his lips as Harry caught Hermione’s attention and waved in greeting.

“Zip it, Zabini.” Draco muttered aloud, gripping his glass of pumpkin juice tightly. He did feel bad, but not as bad as the thought of losing Harry’s friendship. Merlin, why did he never think things through? He was selfish and never thought about others before acting out, but Harry had forgiven him. Draco swallowed. He needed to learn to treat his friends better before they stopped giving him second chances. Everyone had their limits.

\--

Draco had been right, it seemed.

The story of what they had done travelled through Slytherin in angry whispers. No one else said anything, no one else glared, but by the time the rest of the house had returned from Easter break, there was a tangible difference in the air whenever they lounged in the common room for too long.

Housemates whose names he hadn’t yet learned glared when he walked past. He had been planning on finishing his charms assignment in front of the fire, but the whispers and glowering looks that followed him made his chest ache.

He had really done it.

Draco didn’t seem to care, his face set in a haughty sneer as he gathered a scroll of spare parchment from the shelf and traipsed upstairs to their dormitory. Once the door clicked shut and the three Slytherins were out of sight, Draco scowled. “I told you.”

“You brought it upon yourself.”

“Have some sympathy, Blaise.” Draco scolded.

Blaise sighed dramatically and lowered his textbook. He looked at Harry and offered a grim smile. “I’m sorry you’re friends with such a twit, but you didn’t have to follow him out of the dungeon either.”

Harry shrugged. “We go down together.”

“Well, enjoy your detention.”

Harry swallowed. Professor Snape had yet to talk to them about their punishment. He had seen Professor McGonagall escort Ron and Hermione from the Great Hall when they had finished with their eggs, but Snape had disappeared through the back doors with a flare of his robes.

He was relieved, of course, that Snape hadn’t yet chewed them out for breaking his main rule, but the majority of Harry wished he would just yell at them already. Shout. Scold. Whatever it took for the professor to look Harry in the eyes and finally speak to him.

He paused.

Perhaps he could use this to his advantage? Surely the man would ask why they had decided to behave so atrociously. What if he mentioned he had just been trying to garner the man’s attention and was running out of ideas?

“Sickle for your thoughts?”

“I’m going to tell Snape I broke curfew for attention.”

“Oh, no you’re not.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because he already knows I broke curfew first!” Draco pointed out, as if it were obvious. “And he knows you had an invisibility cloak, so clearly you weren’t trying to get caught.”

“Oh, right.” Harry frowned, wondering if he was ever going to get it back. “Well, what do we do then?”

“Nothing.” Draco decided. “We wait for Snape to assign us detention and take it quietly. In the meantime, we lay low. We can’t cost Slytherin any more points, or we’ll never get the cup. If we ruin their five-year streak, we’ll get flayed alive.”

“You’ll get flayed alive.” Blaise spoke up.

_“Shut it, Zabini.”_

\--

Things were quiet for the next few weeks, giving them plenty of time to review for their upcoming exams. Hermione’s notes had proved extremely useful, and after making a copy and returning the original, Draco and Harry used their free-time to quiz each other on the one subject neither had paid attention to all year.

“When did the rebellion of Hogsmeade take place?” Harry asked.

“1612.” Draco replied promptly. “Where were wizard headquarters during said rebellion?”

“The Three Broomsticks Inn. What famous goblin was featured on a chocolate frog card after fighting for wizard-kind?”

Draco blinked. “Urg the Unclean?”

“Right.”

“Levitation spell?” Draco asked, breaching other subjects.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” Harry showcased the wand movement with his quill. “Summoning charm?”

“ _Accio_.” Draco demonstrated, pulling Blaise’s quill from his fingers. He threw it to Harry with a smirk. “Transfigure this into –”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Blaise snatched the quill back, smoothing the silver feather. “I think that’s enough studying for tonight. Besides, it's dinnertime." 

“I was just helping Harry practice.” Draco said sweetly, closing his books and getting up to stretch. “But dinner does sound nice.”

They entered the Great Hall, smiling warily in greeting to the Slytherins who turned to look at them. No one had really bothered them anymore, save for the frustrated whispers the first few days. Slytherin was slowly winning their points back, but they had lost their safety net of extra points.

They hadn’t done anything to lose Slytherin more points, choosing to keep to themselves during class and in the corridors. When Harry stumbled across Professor Quirrell near-tears and muttering to himself, he deftly turned the other way. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he could tell Quirrell was losing. To whom, he didn’t know. Perhaps Snape was doing a really good job at keeping Quirrell from the Stone and as the end of the year drew nearer, Quirrell was beginning to feel the pressure.

Unless Hermione was right and it was the other way around. Maybe Snape was getting close to disarming all the traps and Quirrell could no longer fight him. It made sense, if you didn’t think too hard. What could be scarier than Snape? Surely nothing about Quirrell posed a threat to him, Defense teacher or not.

Harry shook his head of the thought; it was ridiculous.

\--

“Honestly, Mr. Longbottom.” Professor Snape asked silkily, holding back a disappointed sigh with a sneer. “What is this?”

“A Forgetfulness Potion, sir?” Neville asked, his cheeks burning.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you.” Neville mumbled, looking down at the contents of the bubbling cauldron. “Well, it’s supposed to be, but I think something’s gone wrong.”

“Indeed.” Snape mused, vanishing its yellow contents. “You have thirty minutes left of class, Longbottom, so I suppose you’ll be getting a zero for the day.” Snape returned to his desk, muttering under his breath, “Idiot child.”

“Sir?” Harry spoke up, wondering if the man would even acknowledge him.

“This better be class-related, Mr. Potter.” Snape answered uninterestedly. “I can guarantee you’re not finished with your potion either.”

“No, sir.” Harry looked at his potion, which was nearly finished and the correct shade of red. He just needed it to simmer for ten minutes before adding powdered bicorn horn. “But couldn’t Neville just write you an essay?”

“Pardon?”

“Like, you would do to me?” Harry continued, ignoring the whispers that erupted around him about unfair treatment between Slytherins and Gryffindors. “You know, research the potion and figure out where he went wrong? It really helps you to understand the material and improve your skills with future brewing.”

Professor Snape stared at Harry unblinkingly.

“Sit down.” Draco murmured, discreetly pulling on Harry’s robe.

“Sir?” Harry asked, sitting down.

Snape pressed two fingers to his temple. “You’ve heard him, Mr. Longbottom. You have until the end of class to present me something acceptable and legible. If done well, you will receive partial credit.”

Neville stared in disbelief before taking out fresh parchment.

“What are the rest of you staring at?” Snape snapped at the class, whom were still staring at the Potions Master, dumbfounded. “I will not extend the same courtesy if your potion becomes ruined from your inability to pay attention.”

They returned to work.

“Time’s up.” Snape called out, sometime later. “Bottle whatever meager attempt of a potion you’ve managed to brew and bring it to me. Afterwards, you are dismissed.”

The noise level rose as students got up to retrieve empty phials, wanting to leave the dour Potion’s professor as soon as possible.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Malfoy?" Snape called out as the class gathered their things and filed out. "Stay after class, please."

"Now you've done it." Draco groaned, as he picked up the labelled potion and wiped down their work table. "I told you to keep quiet."

Harry shrugged. "Neville deserves a chance."

"You are such a bleeding heart Gryffindor, you know that, right?"

"Yet, here you are."

Draco scowled playfully. "Well, believe it or not Potter, I actually like you."

"I like you too."

They took their time putting away their notes and inkwells, waiting for the classroom to empty out before approaching the professor's desk and presenting their finished potions.

Professor Snape eyed them approvingly before ushering the two out of the classroom - he would have a chance to properly grade them later. He unlocked the door to his office and stepped through, his two snakes following warily behind.

"Sir?" Draco asked, sitting as straight-backed as he could manage. "What's going on?"

"I don't assume you've forgotten about your looming detention have you?" Snape asked silkily, eyeing the pair with contempt.

Harry swallowed. "No, sir."

He had forgotten, in fact. He had convinced himself that it was just another perk of being caught by your own Head of House in front of Gryffindors: you didn't actually get detention.

"I do apologize for it taking so long." Professor Snape grimaced, as he pulled two pieces of folded paper from a drawer. "Things have been rather hectic as of late, and there have been higher concerns than a pair of dunderheaded students wandering the castle after curfew. As neither Professor McGonagall nor I could agree on a detention, the Headmaster has taken it upon himself to assign it. Let it be known that I don't agree in the slightest; if it were up to me, you'd be scrubbing cauldrons until the end of June."

"Yes, sir."

He handed over the notes. "You are to meet Filch in the Entrance Hall at eleven tonight, sharp. Dress warmly, as you will be spending the night in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid."

"You can't be serious!" Draco burst out, standing up. "The Forbidden Forest is, is, forbidden!"

"A keen observation, Mr. Malfoy." Snape commended dryly. He glanced over at Harry and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Perhaps Mr. Potter could benefit from learning the definition of that word."

"If my father hears about this, he'll be incredibly displeased!"

"And if your father hears about your nighttime wanderings?" Snape returned, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Draco merely glared back.

"I've had Malfoy's glaring at me for longer than you've been alive, Draco." Snape murmured softly. "It doesn't do anything.”

"Sorry."

Snape opened the ledger that resided on his desk. He was stretched thin between increased patrolling, experimental brewing, brewing for the infirmary, and planning out end of term exams. "You are dismissed." he said tiredly, as he realized he had a prefects meeting, a staff meeting, and patrol all night today.

Draco turned to leave, but Harry looked at Snape in concerned curiosity. "Sir?"

"What is it, Mr. Potter." he ground out, taking immense interest in writing out the potions Poppy had requested this morning.

"Are you alright?"

Severus looked up in surprise. "Pardon?"

Harry simply scrutinized harder, taking in the sleepless nights evident on the man's face and the slight trembling of hands. Severus noticed and forced his hand to still; it was simply the result of replacing his meals with coffee these days.

"Quite."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that, so he nodded and followed Draco out the door. They met up with Blaise in the Great Hall, who cocked an eyebrow in questioning.

"Detention for last month." Harry offered, as he took a cheese pasty from a nearby platter.

"We're supposed to report to Filch tonight." Draco added sourly. "And then we're supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest with that miserable oaf for Merlin knows what."

“Maybe we’re picking potion ingredients?” Harry suggested, electing to ignore the jibe towards Hagrid. “Some plants only work if they’re gathered at night.”

“Merlin, I hope.”

\--

The rest of the day passed rather quickly, and soon enough, they had returned to their common room after finishing dinner. The three gathered in the living area with their textbooks and Theo, working on last-minute extra credit assignments and review.

“Mother will be quite pleased about my grades.” Draco boasted, as he finished another round of study questions with a perfect score.

“I wish I could say the same.” Theo muttered in frustration, as he penned down a reminder between the British Goblin Wars and the French.

Draco paled.

Theo looked up in alarm. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.” the bespectacled boy assured him. “I mean, I can’t memorize this as well as you.”

Harry looked at the pair in confusion.

“My mother is dead.” Theo responded without emotion, shrugging off the look of horrified curiosity Harry’s face morphed into. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Theo, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not a big deal.” Theo repeated, as he idly turned a page in his textbook. “It’s been years. It was during the war. You lost both of your parents. I lost my mum.” he continued breathily, the words feeling like cotton on his tongue.

Harry wanted to reach out and hug the boy, but he didn’t know how to comfort. It wasn’t like he had experience to go off of. He felt his stomach twist as he realized he wasn’t the only one who still suffered. The only one who had lost someone in the war. There were other students, other Slytherins and Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who had lost someone. Who felt alone, just like he did.

“Theo –”

“What topic did you choose for your charms project?” Theo interrupted, staring blankly at Draco.

The blond faltered and shook his head, pulling out the blue notebook he had assigned for Charms. “I’m doing it on _Alohomora_ and _Colloportus_ , and just how secure those spells are. Gringott vaults don’t open with a simple unlocking charm, so I’m going to find out the limits of alohomora and the more secure versions of colloportus.”

“Blaise?”

“Summoning Charm,” Blaise flashed a smile. “and what happens when you try to summon another person.”

“What happens?” Harry asked.

“Nothing, but you can summon something they’re wearing and with any luck, the person with it. It is frowned upon, of course, but we share the class with some rather snobby Ravenclaws and I’ll be looking for volunteers.”

“I was thinking of doing the Levitation spell.” Theo offered quietly, as he skimmed through meticulous notes. “Daphne’s doing it too, though, so I’m not sure it’s a good idea. If Flitwick thinks hers is better – or worse, that I’m copying her – then there’s no way I get top marks in that class!”

“Theo, it’s okay.”

Theo looked at Blaise wide-eyed, his fingers digging into the spine of his book. He composed himself and cast a tempus charm, sighing when he realized it was getting late. “I should be going to bed.”

“I’ll come with you.” Blaise offered, gathering his school things. “I wanted to tell you about this new book I found in the library and besides, Draco and Harry have somewhere to be.”

“Okay.”

Draco and Harry looked at each other as they left, giving them a moment to themselves. Harry tried to shrug off the misery that remained in the room. Exams were still a month away and already the stress was settling in.

“I guess we should grab our coats.” Draco grimaced, nodding to their room.

They put away their books and slipped into coats, Harry feeling another pang of sadness as he shrugged into the blue coat Professor Snape had gifted him for Christmas, and went downstairs to face their troubles.

Hermione was already waiting, pacing in her faded pink coat.

“Hello, Hermione.”

“Granger.”

“Do either of you know what to expect?” she asked as way of greeting.

“Hurry up now, don’t dawdle!” Filch’s voice sounded out, as he turned the corner. He wasn’t looking at the three, but at Ronald Weasley, as he descended the Grand Stairwell. The boy flushed and hurried down the remaining steps, nearly tripping himself. Draco snickered. “Now, you lot will be spending the night outside, so I hope you’ve dressed warm. You’ll be going with Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest.”

“What?” Ron asked, startled. “We’re not allowed in there!”

“You’re not allowed out of your dorm after curfew either.” Filch returned, leading the foursome out of the castle and towards an orb of light near the forest. “Maybe this’ll teach you not to be in places you don’t belong. You’re lucky you’re getting off easy tonight –”

“This is easy?” Draco whispered.

“If I had it my way, you’d be hung by your ankles until your heads swelled.” Filch continued. “Dumbledore decided on this, so you’ll be safe.” He paused as a muffled howl rang out and broke into a smile. “So he says, anyway.”

They had reached the light, which had turned out to be Hagrid holding a pair of lanterns. The howl had come from Fang, who was sniffing at a nearby tree.

“They’re all yours, Hagrid.”

“That’d be all, Filch.” Hagrid dismissed him, adjusting the strap on the crossbow he was carrying and motioned towards the forest. “Bad things been happen’in’ here and it’s real dangerous, so keep an eye out and stick together, eh?” He pointed towards a puddle of liquid silver that resided at the base of a tree. “See that, there? That’s unicorn blood, that is. Somethin’s been hurtin’ them lately. I found a dead one last week, and we’re gonna’ find this one. Mi’ have to put it out of ‘is misery, poor thing.”

Even in the darkness, Draco looked paler. “Uh, Hagrid? What if whatever is hurting those unicorns find us?”

“Eh ‘yer don’t have anything to worry about.” Hagrid handed Harry one of the lanterns and walked deeper into the forest. “Now, we’ll be splittin’ inter two groups. Weasley and Malfoy, you two can ‘ome with me.”

“I’ll stick with Harry, thanks.”

Hagrid shrugged. “You two take Fang, then. If ye’ come across the unicorn, send up red sparks, yer hear? You can do that righ’?”

Draco and Hermione demonstrated, and Hagrid nodded his approval.

“Let’s go, then.”

They walked along a narrow path, looking for spots of silver. It took a few minutes for the path to reach a fork and from there, the two groups separated. Draco and Harry walked silently, save for their soft footfalls as they stepped over pressed dirt and loose gravel. The deeper they ventured, the thicker the cluster of trees became and soon enough, the lantern they carried did very little to light the way.

“This is absolutely stupid.” Draco muttered bitterly, straining his ears against the rustle of leaves. “If anything happens, my father will hear about it and I can guarantee Dumbledore will have to pay for it.”

“Hush.”

“What is it?” Draco asked worriedly, stopping in his tracks and looking around. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing, I think.” Harry blew the lantern out, watching as the path before them succumbed to the darkness. Without the glowing light of the lantern, he could see a faint splatter of silver away from the path. “Over there,” he pointed it out. “We have to go there.”

“That’s not the path, Harry.”

“We have Fang, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Harry promised, letting the huge mastiff lead the way. Fang sniffed the offending tree and growled slightly.

They stepped through shrubbery, making their way through twigs that snagged their trousers and nearly skidded on a patch of mud, before they came to a small clearing. There, in the middle of it, was the unicorn they were searching for.

It was a bright white, even in the darkness of the forest, its ivory mane fanned out and radiant. It was bathed in glowing silver. It was innocence and purity and magic. It was darkness and greed and dread. It was dead.

“We should alert Hagrid.” Harry whispered, not wanting to disturb the scene before him. He had barely taken his wand out, when something rustled on the other side of the clearing.

The bushes parted and a dark figure crept out. He was wearing a long cloak, the black hood covering their face. It approached the unicorn, sinking to their knees before it. For a moment, Harry thought it too was mourning the loss of something so beautiful. He watched, transfixed, as it lowered its hood and leaned closer to the wound, his mouth dropping in horror as it began drinking the silver blood.

Draco screamed.

He screamed and the hooded figure stood up, staring in their direction, the glowing silver dribbling down the front of its robes. He stepped forward.

Fang had turned around and ran off and Draco was still screaming. He grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled, stumbling over a protruding root as he tried to follow the boarhound back to safety. Harry fell backwards, landing on top of Draco, and feeling his scar burst into a brilliant haze of pain.

It had never hurt like this before.

It was becoming too much and he was becoming blinded by it. He could no longer hear Draco screaming, but somehow, he knew the blond still carried on. He felt something wet trickling down the side of his face and then, the pain subsided.

He heard galloping.

“Are you alright?” someone asked, and Harry was pulled to his feet. He swayed, but then Draco was standing up and holding him steady.

“Yes, thank you.” Harry nodded, dazed. He tried to look at his savior, but the dizziness was too much. He could only see diamond blue eyes.

“What was that?” Draco asked, eyeing the centaur before them warily.

The centaur did not respond, but merely appraised Harry carefully. “You are the Potter child, are you not? You should return to Hagrid; it is not safe here for you.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, getting his bearings. “What is going on?”

“My name is Firenze.” he side-tracked, kneeling down. “Can you ride? I can take you back to Hagrid and this will be much faster.” They climbed onto his back, looking at each other in disbelief as the centaur carried them through the trees.

“Firenze, have you no shame?”

Firenze stopped to acknowledge the pair of approaching centaurs. They did not resemble Firenze, for their hair was dark and their faces were set in scowls.

“Do you not know who this is?” Firenze returned, picking up his trot. “This is the Potter boy. The faster he leaves the forest, the safer it is.”

“It is not our place to interfere.”

“I am not interfering! Did you not see that unicorn and the one before it?” Firenze asked angrily. “Do you not know what that means? I will stand against the darkness in the forest, Bane, even if it means standing with humans.” He left the two centaurs behind.

“Firenze?” Harry asked tentatively. “What darkness?”

“Tell me, Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

“No, we’ve never even talked about it in Potions.”

“It is an abominable thing to slaughter a unicorn.” Firenze murmured, slowing down. “It is only done by someone with nothing to lose, but everything to gain. Its blood will keep you alive, no matter the circumstances, but at a price. You have destroyed innocence to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment it touches your lips.”

“Then how can it be worth it?”

“It can be worth it if you only need it for a second.” Firenze explained. “If you only need to stay alive long enough to get something better. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you know what is residing in the castle as we speak?”

“The Philosopher’s Stone?” Harry asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth. He tried to recall what little he had read. “Wait, you mean the Elixir of Life? I don’t understand.”

“You can think of no one who has been clinging at the edge of life, just waiting for a chance to make their return?”

Harry felt like the darkness was choking him, forcing the air out of his lungs and filling them with ice. His stomach clenched as the memory of Hagrid bursting through the door of the shoddy shack came to mind. _Some say he died. Personally, I don’t think there was enough human left in him to die._ “You mean?” he swallowed heavily. “You think it’s Voldemort?”

“Mars is exceptionally bright tonight.” Firenze replied, looking up as footsteps bounded towards them. Shadows broke through the trees and they were greeted with familiar faces.

“There ye are!” Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief. Fang whimpered, hiding behind the half-giant. “What happened to yer face?”

Harry shrugged, grimacing as the adrenaline wore off and the night came crashing down. He could feel the side of his face throbbing. Beside him, Draco was cradling his wrist and staring silently at the ground.

“You are safe now, Harry Potter.” Firenze murmured, turning to go. “Good luck on what comes. We have been wrong before, but those times were far and few between. Mars is exceptionally bright.” he repeated.

“I’ll deal with th’ unicorn tomorrow.” Hagrid decided, leading them out of the forest. “I should get yer inside; reckon’ you’ve served your detention, alrigh’.” He took them back to the castle, leaving them at the heavy wooden doors. They said goodnight and headed to their respective common rooms.

“Well, you’re back early.”

They looked up to see Professor Snape rounding the corner, looking down at them with a raised eyebrow and a tired scowl. “Did you sneak off while Hagrid’s back was turned?”

“Hagrid brought us back.”

“Mr. Potter, what happened to your face?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

Professor Snape appraised the pair. They were both tired and dirty, but Potter had dried blood down the side of his face and Draco seemed distant. He sighed and ushered them to his office, where he flicked on the lights and transfigured a spare bit of parchment into a flannel.

He sat the boy down and carefully started wiping the dried crimson with a murmured, “Tell me what happened.” Harry couldn’t help but be swept up in the familiarity of mint and gentle smoke.

“It was him.” Draco spoke up, after Harry had described the hooded figure they had encountered and what Firenze had said about drinking unicorn blood.

Snape glanced over, as he opened a jar of healing salve.

“The Dark Lord, it was him.” Draco clarified, his face pale. “Father was right, wasn’t he? He was never dead. He was there.”

“Mr. Malfoy.” Professor Snape spoke silkily, taking in the boy’s trembling. “You’re alright, I promise. You’re merely experiencing shock and a lack of sleep.”

“It was him.”

“Draco.” Harry took his hand. “We’re safe now.”

“He wants the Stone so he can come back.” Draco pressed on. “He can’t get it, can he? He needs someone to do it for him.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape warned, producing a Calming Draught from within his robes. “Take this and then both of you are going to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Mr. Potter?” Snape called out, as they started to leave. Harry hummed in questioning. “I believe this belongs to you.” Snape shook his head, handing over the shimmering cloak. “It’s been brought to my attention that you may…benefit from it. Rest assured, if I found you hiding underneath it after curfew, I will burn it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They returned to their common room and while Draco slipped into pajamas and into bed, Harry took a moment to admire his returned cloak before putting it away. It had been a painfully long night and his scar continued to hurt, but his face was cleaned up and healing salve soothed the cut on his cheek.

He tried to go to bed, but sleep did not come easy.

He slipped out of the common room the next morning, not wanting to wake the still-sleeping blond. Blaise was already up and sitting beside Theo in the Great Hall. He nodded in greeting, wrapping up two blueberry pasties before returning downstairs.

“Ah, Harry, just the boy I wanted to see.” a cheery voice called out and Harry stopped in his tracks, hiding the warm bundle behind his back. He watched as Professor Dumbledore approached him, wearing robes of deep burgundy and glinting gold.

“H-Headmaster.” Harry stuttered in greeting.

“I heard you had an encounter in the forest last night, my boy?” Professor Dumbledore enquired, as he led Harry down the corridor. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, what makes you think it was Voldemort?”

“Firenze said…” Harry trailed off, feeling stupid. “And my scar, it started hurting.”

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Oh, on the contrary, my boy.” Professor Dumbledore laughed, placing a hand on Harry’s back, causing the child to tense.

“I don’t think Professor Snape does.”

“You’ve talked to him?” the headmaster asked, seemingly startled. “I thought you had drifted apart. Well, isn’t this good news?”

Harry shrugged.

“Let’s just say Professor Snape, amongst others, aren’t ready to hear that Voldemort never really died. Of course, he always knew that.”

“Sir?”

“It’s hard to believe he’s dead when one bears the Mark all the same.” Professor Dumbledore commented offhandedly. “Of course, there comes a time when we must all face what we’d rather not.”

Harry’s world was suddenly spinning on its axis. The corridor was suffocating and the pasties were too hot in his hand. He dropped the clothed bundle and pushed off the Headmaster’s hand. “I have to go.” he breathed out, running out of the corridor.

If Dumbledore said anything else, Harry didn’t hear him.

He ran through the hallways until he reached the dungeons. He ran to Professor Snape’s personal chambers, nearly tangling himself in the tapestry that marked the hidden entrance. He reached the dead-end wall and started knocking loudly and desperate, until the door finally appeared and opened and a scowling Head of House greeted him with contempt.

“Mr. Potter,” he began, annoyed. “What in Merlin’s name are you –”

“Tell me it’s not true!” Harry yelled out in anger because he had trusted the man. Even when he had been turned away and left alone, he had trusted him. Everything was falling down and around him. Voldemort was back and Quirrell was helping him. Quirrell, follower of the Dark Lord. Death Eater. Bearer of the Mark Draco had once explained to him. Quirrell. Not Snape, because the Death Eaters were a vile group of people who did horrible things, who killed his parents and wanted him dead and Professor Snape would never betray him like that. “Tell me Dumbledore was wrong!”

“Mr. Potter, what is going on?” Snape asked, concern coating his tongue.

“Tell me you don’t have the Dark Mark!” Harry wanted to scream when the man’s face became clear of all emotion and his arms dropped to his side. “Tell me!”

“Mr. Potter.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Harry pleaded. “You might not tell me the whole truth, but you have never lied to me. Don’t start now.”

Professor Snape sighed and nodded the slightest bit. “Mr. Potter, if you –”

Harry shook his head, holding back his anger. “Your kind is the reason my mother is dead.” he cried out, turning and leaving the stunned man behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your comments and i apologize if there are any inconsistencies! this is technically a wip, so i'm working out a few things and editing out paradoxical statements.


	19. Answers.

Your kind is the reason my mother is dead.

Professor Snape blinked unwittingly, as the accusation repeated itself in his head like an unwanted mantra. The words had suddenly sprouted wings and were thrumming against his skull, flapping violently until he felt it would make him sick.

Your kind is the reason my mother is dead.

Severus tried to speak, tried to call Mr. Potter back to him, but the allegation had settled in the pit of his stomach and coated his tongue with an acrid substance, as if he had just woken up after consuming too much whiskey the night before.

Your kind is the reason my mother is dead.

He felt the shame, the guilt, wash over him like a tidal wave and there was nothing he could do to stop the feeling of drowning, the denial of oxygen from his lungs. His knees buckled and Severus held onto the door frame to steady himself.

He was weak.

He was weak and he hated it.

Severus forced the onslaught of emotions behind a wall of occlumency, forced himself to breathe. The shame was locked away and in its place remained anger. Pure, unfiltered anger. Not at the Potter boy, of course not, but at the one who had offhandedly – Snape sneered, as if the Headmaster ever said anything without hidden intentions – given the boy the information that would assuredly cement the rift between them.

He closed the front door, counted to three, and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.  
  
“Headmaster’s Office,” he seethed, stepping through the green flames.

“Severus, what a surprise.” Albus greeted him, sitting behind his desk with a cup of tea in his hands. He made a show of pulling out a second cup and filling it to the brim with Darjeeling. “Sugar?”

“You know why I’m here.” Severus choked out, pushing the teacup aside.

“My boy…” Dumbledore began, searching Severus’ expression. He was surprised to see the hurt in the man’s otherwise angry scowl. “You know it is not safe for the boy to know your true allegiance. What good are you if your cover is blown?”

“Plenty.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Is it not?” Severus asked, harshly. “What other use would I have to you?”

“Severus.”  
  
“If the Dark Lord knew which side I was truly on, he would have me killed. I know that very well and you, you would lose your spy. But telling Harry Potter about the Mark? That I once stood with the very man who killed his parents? That was no one’s choice but mine.”

“You wouldn’t tell him.”

“I would if the time called for it.”

“It did, Severus! Don’t you understand?” Dumbledore’s voice raised in a way it rarely did. “I wanted you to keep your distance to keep you alive! Not for the greater good! Not for you to spy, but because I care about you!”

Severus kept his expression blank. “It is not your place to interfere. I was handling things just fine – Quirrell didn’t suspect a thing. He thought I was keeping the brat occupied for him.”

“What’s done has been done, Severus.”

“Not if I have something to say about it.” the Potions Master promised silkily, returning to his personal chamber.  
  
When the green flames had diminished and pale embers remained in their place, Severus picked up a dirty teacup from the counter and threw it against the wall, satisfied with the crash it made. He threw another one before vanishing the mess.

\--

“Harry, what are you doing?” Draco demanded, as the raven-haired boy ran into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. He sat up and stretched.

“I’m sorry,” the other boy replied sheepishly, wrapping arms around himself. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Draco stood up and crossed the room, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder, frowning when he found his friend trembling.

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Professor Snape, he…” the darker skinned boy trailed off, adjusting his glasses. “He, he’s not a good person after all, Draco. He has the Dark Mark.”

“Did he show it to you?” Draco asked in disbelief.

“No!” Harry began, but stopped short. “Wait, you knew about it?!”

“I thought everyone did.” Draco shrugged.

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Harry burst out. “Everyone kept saying how Professor Snape was evil, how he was a vampire, or how he was probably a Death Eater, but I thought that was just the mean stuff everyone in this school liked to say about Slytherin!”

“Harry.”

“He killed my parents!”

“No, he didn’t, Harry!” Draco yelled out, wanting to shake the boy. “Don’t be so bloody stupid! My father was a Death Eater too, you know! He’s not evil. The Dark Lord, he had good ideas when the  war first began and a lot of people made choices they regret now. How about you pick up a bloody history book about the war instead of listening to insufferable Gryffindors!”

“He shouldn’t have been on that side in the first place!” Harry returned. “I have read books on it, by the way, but do you really think I want to keep reading about how my parents are dead and how the whole bloody world thinks I’m some kind of hero?! He was on the bad side. Your father was on the bad side, and honestly, they should all be in Azkaban for what they did!”

“And just what do you think he did?”

“I don’t know!” Harry shouted, near tears. “He might not have killed my parents, but he could have killed loads of other people. People who weren’t his friend!”

“Harry.” Draco sighed softly, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. He waited until the boy had sat down before continuing. “Harry, I don’t know everything about the war and I don’t pretend to. I don’t know why some people joined the Dark Lord’s side, but I do know one thing: Dumbledore is hailed the leader of the light, isn’t he? If Professor Snape had really killed loads of people or did anything remotely bad, do you think he would be teaching here? Do you think he would have been made Head of House? Or even allowed to set foot in Hogwarts? If my father had truly done anything bad, do you think he would be a school governor? Dumbledore is head of the Wizengamot, you know. The High Wizard Court. If they were really bad, they wouldn’t be here.”

Harry stayed silent.

“How did you find out anyway?” Draco asked, casually, as Harry leaned into the blond and closed his eyes.

“Dumbledore told me.”

“And you just believed him?”

“I confronted Snape about it.” Harry shrugged. “I didn’t leave until he admitted to it.”

Draco looked down at his friend in disbelief. “For such a small wizard, you sure are brave Harry Potter. Sometimes, stupidly so.”

Harry smiled softly. “You chose to be my friend.”

“I’m gonna miss you when Snape finally flays you alive.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t let that happen.”

Draco pushed Harry off of him and appraised him carefully. “So, you believe me? About Professor Snape? Because honestly, Harry, I’m getting tired of this constant back and forth. You either trust him or you don’t.”

“I’m tired of it too.”  
  
They were silent for a few minutes, as Harry tried to process his morning.   
  
"Your dad's a Death Eater?" he asked, softly, worried about offending his best friend.   
  
"He was."  
  
"You said he wasn't." Harry mumbled uncomfortably, remembering the day they had first arrived at Hogwarts, when Draco had defended his father against Ron Weasley.  
  
"He was." Draco repeated, firmly. "But wizards today...if you were on the wrong side of the war, well, you're automatically bad. That's why most of the school hates Slytherin, because most of the Death Eaters were from Slytherin. They think we're just like them, but they don't even know who they are. My father is a good person, at least, to me and my mother he is. Professor Snape is a good person, and I've known the two of them all my life."   
  
"Still."  
  
"We all make mistakes, Harry."   
  
"I guess." 

Draco shook his head, but didn't say anything more about it. They stayed in for the rest of the morning, talking about more mundane things, until Blaise returned with Theo and forced them into another round of study questions.

“I bet I wouldn’t be studying as much if I had been sorted into Gryffindor.” Harry grumbled, as he put away a stack of handmade flash cards.

“You should feel lucky you weren’t.” Draco teased, tightly rolling up his study guide. “Come on, let’s play a game of chess.”

“You always win though.” Harry moaned.

“You know, not even Draco’s a good player when his focus is elsewhere.” Blaise brought up with a sly grin when the blond had left to fetch the game board. He sat down on the floor next to where Draco would most likely reside. “Perhaps you’ll win a round, yet.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Harry groaned, but he was biting back a smile.

\--

“…and checkmate.” Draco announced, as he moved his second bishop into the remaining square around Harry’s king.

“This is stupid.” Harry announced, as he frowned at the pieces.

“It’s not my fault you were too busy trying to go after all my pawns instead of keeping an eye on the rest of the game.”

“Two out of three?” Harry asked with a glint in his eye, for he had managed to win the last game when Blaise had been distracting Draco with conversation. Sure, they had planned that out and tag-teamed him, but there wasn’t anything in the rules against that, per se.

“I suppose.”

They cleared the board and were in the process of realigning the game pieces when Terrence Higgs entered the common room and approached the pair.

“What’s up, Higgs?” Draco asked.

“Professor Snape wants to see you.” Terrence addressed Harry, handing over a sealed piece of parchment. “Before lunch, preferably.”

Harry paled. “Oh, um, I don’t think…”

“He’ll be there.” Draco assured, taking the missive.

“Draco,” Harry whined, after the prefect had left. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“He’s probably going to turn me into some obscure potion.”

Draco bit back a smile. “Perhaps you shouldn’t shout at him, then. Honestly, Harry, if he were going to disembowel you, it would have happened when your back was turned. Now, come on, let’s finish this game.”

“Alright.”

Harry lost, of course.

“I guess I’ll be going now.” he laughed nervously, when the game had been put away and he had slipped his shoes back on.

“You’ll be fine.” Draco promised. “That was a long time ago, Harry.”  
  
Harry shrugged, leaving the safety of the common room with a sigh. At least if he never returned, Draco and Higgs knew where he was going.

“Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape greeted coldly, opening the door to his office further and letting the boy enter. “Have a seat.”

“Sir?” Harry asked nervously, as Snape pulled out his wand and cast a series of spells on the door. “What are those…” he trailed off, feeling panic settle in his throat as he recognized _Colloportus_.

“Privacy charms.”

Harry bit his tongue, trying to ignore the blatant fact that escape wouldn’t be easy. Could he even cast _Alohomora_ before Snape ended him? If he screamed would anyone be able to hear him?

“Mr. Potter.”

He had to try, at least. Even if escaping was futile, he couldn’t die without at least brandishing his wand. His father fought, hadn’t he? Before he died? He had to, too, lest his parents be disappointed in him when he crossed over. Would he cross over? The Dursley’s always told him he was inherently bad. An unlovable freak. Perhaps he really wouldn’t get to ever see them again. Where did wizards even go when they died? Was it the same place as Muggles? Was there even a place for either?

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, you need to calm down.”

Harry blinked.

He was sitting in the hard-backed chair of Professor Snape’s office, his legs dangling and feet not touching the stone floor. Despite how cold the dungeons always were, Harry felt his clothes and hair sticking to him with sweat, heat prickling its way down his spine. His chest ached. His lungs burned. His mouth was dry. His vision spotted.

Oh, gods, this was it.

Snape was kneeling in front of the boy, his wand brandished and eyes narrowed.

This was it.

Snape was casting the spell on Harry that would kill him in revenge for what he said that morning. He tried to die valiantly, he really did, but he couldn’t help the scream that bubbled up in his throat. “Let me go!” he finally shouted, struggling against the restraints he felt holding him down and binding his wrists together.  
  
He could hear gentle murmuring, the door opening and closing, and even a misplaced pop around him. He fervently hoped someone had broken through the wards and was there to help him. Something cool filled his mouth and there was a familiarity in the bitterness that allowed him to swallow.

“Merlin.”

Harry coughed lightly, looking around himself.

Snape was still kneeling in front of him, one hand holding both of Harry’s together, the other tightly holding onto an empty phial. Gingerly, he let go of the boy’s hands and Harry stretched out sore fingers.

“Sir.” Harry croaked out, wondering if it was safe to put his guard down. He tried to assess his injuries, finding his arms burning and head aching, but everything else was dulled from what could only be a calming draught. He hadn’t been killed yet. His mind was reeling at the thought.

Mimsey popped into existence, startling them both. She set a tray on the desk and promptly disappeared. Severus stood up and poured a glass of water for his shaking charge.

“Drink.” he instructed, handing it over, before returning to the tray the house elf had brought. He picked up a second phial and a square of flannel, turning back to the wide-eyed boy with careful movements.

“Essence of Dittany,” he explained, soaking the flannel with thick liquid. He pried the glass from Harry’s hands, extending his arms, and surveying the damage. Harry blinked again, noticing for the first time the bleeding scratches that ran down his forearms. “Did you realize you were doing this?”

“No, sir.” Harry mumbled, confusion settling in.

Professor Snape dabbed at the scratches, with a gentleness Harry couldn’t comprehend. The man was a Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake. He could see a teapot with cups to match waiting on the desk, next to a plate of pasties and a series of potions.

He watched as the scratches healed and disappeared.

“That should do it.” Snape murmured, stoppering the Dittany and setting it on the desk. He poured two cups of tea and turned back to Harry. “Come, before it gets cold.”

Harry didn’t move.

“Tell me, are you afraid of me, Mr. Potter?”

Harry tried to school his face to reveal nothing, but his attempt was futile.

“I should have expected as much.” Professor Snape murmured contemptuously, drawing his wand and fortifying the wards before sitting down. “I believe we have things to talk about then, Mr. Potter.”

“Just Harry.”

Snape smiled mirthlessly. “Harry.”

The boy brought his chair closer and picked up the teacup. It was mint and honey, as he preferred, and his confusion deepened.

They didn’t talk for several minutes. Harry sipped his tea, eyeing the plate of golden-brown pasties with hunger. When Severus noticed, he reached for one himself, assuring the boy it was alright to eat.

Swiss, onion, and well-seasoned potato greeted him and Harry reached for a second one when nothing but crumbs remained of the former.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape began, refilling both their cups with more tea. “There are matters that need to be discussed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What Professor Dumbledore said to you…”

“Don’t you dare try to deny it!” Harry interrupted angrily.

“It was uncalled for.” Severus continued, smoothly. “And more importantly, it wasn’t his story to tell.”

Harry continued to glare.

“I stood with the Dark Lord when the war was looming.” Severus admitted, his voice somber. “I took the Mark alongside several others. I was young and stupid, and whilst my reasons why don’t matter, I realized my mistake soon enough. By then, it was too late.”

“My mother is dead because of them.”

“Yes.” Snape replied, for there was nothing else he could say. “If it helps, I had defected a year before they were killed. I tried to save her, Harry. I tried to help all of you.”  
  
“They’re still dead.”

“You can’t save everyone, Mr. Potter.” Snape finally answered, his voice barely a whisper. “Merlin knows I tried.”

“You said it was too late,” Harry put down his teacup and stared at the Potion’s Master intently. “but you also said it was another year before my parents died. What was it too late for, then?”

“To turn my back on the Dark Lord.” Severus began, picking up his own teacup and cradling it tightly to hide his trembling hands. He really needed to start eating proper meals. “The Mark he gave his followers wasn’t simply a symbol of identification or unity…it was a way to control us. Through the Mark, he could make us suffer, summon us, even find us if he wished. If he learned I had defected, I would have been dead before anyone found out who the Dark Lord was targeting.”

“You didn’t leave.” Harry accused.

“I turned to Dumbledore for help.” Severus clarified. “He realized I had access to information the other side could only dream of having. In short, I remained amongst the Death Eaters, but returned to the others when it was safe and relayed what I had learned.”

“You were a spy.”

Severus grimaced, but nodded.

“He’s not really dead, is he?”

“Dumbledore doesn’t think so.”

Harry frowned, trying to remember what the centaur had told him. He rubbed his scar absentmindedly, trying to piece together fragments of information he had been given.

“Your scar is still hurting?” Snape asked, eyeing the boy in concern. He had treated the cut on his cheek last night, but he had not been blind to the then-inflamed scar on the first year’s forehead.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Harry spat out.

“Pardon?”

The voice was cool and dangerous.

“Sorry.” Harry shrugged. “I guess I’m still angry and confused about everything.”  
  
“Such as?”

“I know about the Philosopher’s Stone.” Harry started, piecing together what he knew.

“I gathered that much on my own,” the professor sneered. “Honestly, Mr. Potter, how many times must I tell you to stay out of that?”

“At least once more.” Harry shrugged before continuing. “I know it is hidden somewhere in the castle and I know Voldemort wants it.”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Firenze told me – the centaur from the forest.” Harry explained. “Mars is exceptionally bright, he said, right before he left.”

“Centaurs have an affinity with fortune-telling.” Snape murmured, gazing into his tea. His face was taught, as if he were in pain. “It means war is coming.”

“Someone is helping him.” Harry continued.

“Yes.”

“It’s Professor Quirrell.”

“Yes.”

“You’re helping him, aren’t you?” Harry asked, in a smaller voice, still trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together. “At least, you want him to believe you’re helping him…” he added hesitantly, remembering Blaise’s theory.

“My goal, Mr. Potter, is to keep you – and the rest of my students – safe. Whether you believe me or not, is your prerogative.”

“Voldemort still doesn’t know you’re a traitor.” Harry breathed in realization, feeling panic settle in his throat once more. “You’re still a spy.”

Snape was silent this time.

“Dumbledore told me about you, about you being a Death Eater because, because Voldemort is here and he can’t know the truth. If he killed you, it would be my fault. Dumbledore was trying to keep the secret safe. I’m supposed to hate you. To blame you for my parents death and never speak to you again, aren’t I?”

“That was his intention.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Harry sat back, trying to calm his flitting thoughts. “And you’re here, telling me the truth, with privacy spells on the door, because you don’t agree! Professor, if Voldemort finds out the truth because of me, if you’re killed because you’re friendly with the boy who ended his reign, oh sweet Merlin, then –”

“Then it would have been entirely my fault, Mr. Potter.” Snape interrupted, keeping his voice level, but the words sounded tight, as if he were finally beginning to recognize what a bad idea telling the boy was.

“That’s why you’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”

“It was for the best.”

“But you changed your mind.”

“Indeed.”

“Why?”

Severus blanked, unsure of how to proceed. “I cannot answer that question, Mr. Potter, for I don’t seem to know the exact reasons myself. Perhaps it’s because you insist on getting yourself in continuous trouble and require an adult to supervise you at all times.” he taunted. “Or perhaps it’s because I cannot leave a child to suffer in the way you are currently.”

“And if you change your mind again?” Harry asked, ignoring the warmth that began to fill him. He wouldn’t let it distract him. This was far too important.

“Then you would have to live with that fact.”

“Voldemort –”

“Stop speaking his name.”

“The Dark Lord,” Harry rephrased, noticing how the words felt wrong on his tongue. “If he found out…about you. It wouldn’t be good, would it?”

“No.”

“You even speaking to me is a mistake – if it wasn’t, Dumbledore wouldn’t have tried to put a stop to it. So, I guess, what happens now?”

“It would be…politic, if we kept ignoring each other. Perhaps even made a show of hating each other.”

“A show.” Harry repeated, thinking of the way Snape treated the Gryffindors in class. “And afterwards?”

“It can be just how it used to be.”

“Really?”

“The Headmaster has a plan for Quirrell and the Dark Lord. The Stone is safe. If it goes accordingly, we would only have to hate each other for a while longer.”

Harry nodded.

“You believe this to be the truth?” Snape asked, eyes scrutinizing. “It is imperative that you trust me, Mr. Potter. I need you to stay out of the way, to stay safe.”

“I want to believe you,” Harry admitted. “but every time I think I know you, you do something to prove otherwise.”

Severus smirked, refilling their tea. “I wasn’t appointed Head of Slytherin for nothing, Mr. Potter.”


	20. The Room of Enchantments

The month of May progressed in side-stepped questions about Professor Snape, Quidditch practice for the final game against Hufflepuff, and so much studying, Harry couldn’t even sleep without dreaming about the Goblin Wars.

His scar was aching non-stop, and when Draco suggested he talk to Snape about it, Harry shrugged it off.

“He still won’t talk to you?” Draco asked, softly.

“It’s nothing like that,” Harry promised, as he skimmed his Charms textbook and willed himself to memorize Latin affixes. Who would have thought magic was much more work than just waving a stick around. “I can’t talk about it.”

Draco huffed in annoyance.

“Draco.”

Harry bit his lip, eyes staring intently at the words that swarmed before him. It had been weeks since his conversation with Snape, weeks since he felt the weight of responsibility weighing down on him. If he slipped up…

“When this is all over, I’ll explain.”

“When what is all over?” Draco asked, perching himself on Harry’s bed.

“Quirrell is trying to get the Stone for Voldemort, Draco.” Harry listed out what he felt wouldn’t threaten Professor Snape’s position. “Snape and Dumbledore are making sure he doesn’t – they have a plan, to keep it safe.”

“Fluffy.” Draco grimaced.

“There’s probably more, too.”

The blond raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know anything else about that plan,” Harry put his hands up. “Snape told me to stay out of it. He’s far too busy for me, right now. He doesn’t hate me and I’m not ignoring him. Exams are next week, Draco!”

“He’s too busy to help us during class?”

“We don’t need help with Potions, Draco.” Harry mumbled, returning to his book. “At least, you don’t. The things going on…he said it would be more politic this way.”

Draco nodded, suddenly understanding.

“Father uses that word all the time.” the blond considered the phrase. “It’s best if the public doesn’t know about certain things. That’s why I’m supposed to say he was never a true Death Eater, so it doesn’t hurt our family all these years later.” He paused. “I suppose if Snape is trying to get information out of Quirrell, it wouldn’t do him any favors to play favorites with the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry shrugged, chest tightening.

“Just how long is this plan, then?” Draco asked, looking puzzled. “It’s nearly the end of term and he’s still walking around this school. I don’t think he’s attempted to go after the Stone since Halloween, if that’s what the troll was about. I don’t even think he’ll last to the end of the week.”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t Hagrid say the position was cursed?” Draco continued. “It’s not likely he’ll return next year. What’s the plan here, then? Do they not have enough proof to floo the Aurors? Are they just hoping he’ll waste away in the corridors, as he waits for an opportunity to steal the Stone?”

“As long as Dumbledore is here, I don’t think Quirrell will try.”

“So, what?” Draco asked. “They’re just waiting for proof? Is that why Snape said it would be politic to ignore you? So Quirrell will believe him and he can get the proof they need?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“I think it’s stupid.” Draco announced. “You’ve been a right mess since second term.”

“I have not!”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry turned away from him, feeling his cheeks heat up. “So, _inberficium_ ,” he read aloud the review question in distraction, “is a charm for creating artificial showers. I know _inber_ means rain, so that’s the root word...and um, _ficium_ is a…uh.”

“It’s a suffix, Harry.” Draco rolled his eyes. “If it’s before the root, it’s a prefix. After the root, it’s a suffix. Pre is a prefix in itself. It means before.”

“Right, sorry, I just keep forgetting. So, _ficium_ is a suffix meaning…”

“Think about what the charm does.”

“Making!” Harry finally groaned. “ _Ficium_ means making. The charm is literally rain-making. Wouldn’t it make more sense for it to be _ficiuminber_ , then?”

Draco merely stared.

“You’re right, that was hard to say.”

They studied until Harry felt confident he could break down any charm thrown his way. The rest of the week passed in the same quiet blur, and before they could really stop and panic, exams had arrived and just as quickly gone.

“I definitely botched Transfiguration.” Theo groaned, still worried over Monday’s exam. “McGonagall wanted an eagle feather and I gave her a sparrow’s!”

“At least you managed a feather.” Pansy complained.

“You should have seen my star chart for Astronomy.” Harry grimaced, thinking of last night’s exam. “I couldn’t see half the constellations and just made them up.”

“History of Magic.” Vincent winced, causing almost everyone to groan in agreement over this morning’s exam.

“It was the absolute worst!” Greg nodded.

“It would have been fine if it wasn’t followed by Potions.” Blaise frowned. “We don’t even have Potions on Thursday! I couldn’t stop thinking about the Forgetfulness Potion we were going to brew! I spent all of lunch rewriting my notes on it.”

“Well, the only thing we can do now is wait for our results.” Draco pointed out, as they reached their Common Room. He set his Potions kit down and flopped on the loveseat. “If anything, at least we all passed Defense!”

“At least.”

“Please, I’m sure you all could have passed the third year exam.” Adrian Pucey interrupted, as he walked towards the group, broom polisher in hand. “I don’t think Professor Quirrell realizes how old his students even are.”

“Hey, Pucey.”

“Potter.” Adrian nodded towards Harry. “Flint wants to fit in one last practice before the game on Saturday. Montague and Warrington are still in Herbology, so practice isn’t until four, but we’re heading down now to warm-up, if you want to come.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Harry nodded, eager to get away from further talk of exams. They were over after all, and the final game was approaching. He felt a slight pang as he ran upstairs to get his gloves; the school year was really coming to a close.

\--

Practice ended right before dinner.

“Have you considered bathing after practice?” Draco asked in distaste, as he spotted Harry waiting outside the Great Hall.

“It’s just hot outside.” Harry grinned, pushing back sweat-damp hair. “Practice was loads of fun today.”

“I can tell.”

“I almost forgot it was June.” he shrugged, pouring himself a glass of water. He had enjoyed practice, flying lazy circles underneath warm sunshine. The pitch had been a vibrant green he had long forgotten about and even the Black Lake seemed to sparkle in cerulean. “I can’t believe the year is almost over.”

“I’ll be glad to go home.” Draco reached for the butter dish. “I miss the Manor.”

Harry shrugged again.

“Of course, you’ll have to visit.” Draco brought up, passing the butter dish to an expectant Blaise. “If those awful Muggles of yours will let you.”

Harry offered a half-smile, turning to scan the staff table.

Quirrell was at his usual seat beside Professor Snape, still looking rather frail. His face had become hollow weeks ago, but there was an almost gaunt look to his appearance that was terrifying to stare at. He wasn’t eating, merely cradling a half-filled flute of wine and staring intently at the empty seat where Dumbledore usually was.

Harry frowned.

It wasn’t like Professor Dumbledore to be absent from dinner.

The two professor’s began talking, Quirrell vaguely signaling towards the empty seat, and Harry found himself desperate to know what the conversation was about. Professor Snape set his empty wine glass down and excused himself.

Harry waited, but neither Professor Dumbledore nor Snape returned.

“Harry?” Blaise asked, when dinner was over. “Are you okay?”

“Dumbledore.”

“What about him?” Blaise pressed, looking to Draco for help.

“I need to talk to him.” Harry breathed, standing up and bolting for the corridor. He stopped suddenly, as he realized he had no idea where the Headmaster’s office was.

“Harry!”

“What is going on?” Draco panted, catching up with the boy.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Harry muttered, catching sight of Professor McGonagall. She was Deputy Headmistress – if he could just follow her quietly enough.

He managed to follow her for a few minutes, before he lost her at the top of a stairwell. He looked around bewildered, trying to ascertain where she could have gone, when her voice sounded out from behind.

“Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Zabini.” she greeted, clearly displeased. “What are you three doing wandering this part of the castle.”

“Please, Professor, we’re looking for Professor Dumbledore.”

“We’re?” Harry heard Draco mutter.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, do you need him for?”

“It’s secret.”

“Secret.”

“Yes!” Harry cried. “It’s just very important.”

“I’m afraid the Headmaster has been called away from the castle.” McGonagall conceded. “He received a rather urgent message from the Minister himself. He’ll be back tomorrow, Mr. Potter. I’m sure whatever it is can wait until then, and if it can’t, I believe you have a Head of House who is still residing in the castle.”

“But Professor –”

“Return to your Common Room, Mr. Potter.” The Gryffindor Head of House advised. “Or go enjoy what’s left of the sunshine, now that exams are over. You’ll miss it soon enough.”

He watched as she walked away.

“Harry, what is going on?”

“I think Quirrell is going to try to go after the Stone.” Harry shook his head. “This is the first time Dumbledore has left the castle all term and the year is ending – it’s his only chance. I saw him asking Snape about Dumbledore’s empty seat. He knows he’s gone. He has to know.”

“He has to get through Fluffy first.” Blaise pointed out, sensibly.

“I know,” Harry started, mind racing. “You don’t suppose he already knows, do you?”

“Hagrid would never.” Draco assured, grimacing at himself for defending the oaf. “He’s too loyal to Dumbledore.”

“Hagrid…” Harry trailed off, already taking off for the castle doors. “If Fluffy belongs to Hagrid…then he’s the only one who knows how to tame him.”

“I just implied that.”

“What if he told someone else though?” Harry asked. “Not Quirrell, but someone he didn’t even know? Someone who just wanted to talk about magical creatures with him?”

“The dragon.” Blaise breathed.

“Exactly!” Harry shouted, stepping outside. The sun had started to set, bathing the grounds in an indigo and magenta haze. “Don’t you think it’s funny that this stranger just happened to have what Hagrid wanted most?”

“You think he exchanged information for valuables?” Draco asked, starting to see the groundskeeper in new light.

“No!” Harry exclaimed, affronted. “I think he had too much to drink and it slipped out to the wrong person.”

“So what are you doing now?” Blaise asked, as they approached Hagrid’s hut.

“I’m going to trick him into slipping the same information to me.” Harry muttered.

“Well, there’s no doubt he was sorted in the right house.”

\--

“An’ I told him, all you need to put Fluffy down is to play some music for her,” Hagrid recounted, as he drained his second glass of mead. “After a creature like her, a dragon would be a piece o’ cake, I said. ‘Course that convinced him right round’ and he agreed ter’ a game.”

“And you won.” Harry pointed out, wrapping his head around the new information with a grimace. He wasn’t musically inclined at all.

“Bloody righ’ I did.” Hagrid boasted, proudly. “Most important card game of me life, it felt. ‘Course, you know what happened to Norberta.”

“Norberta?”

Hagrid grinned. “Yeah, Charlie Weasley been writing me letters since. Turns out he was a she, how’d ye reckon that?”

“So, um, what did he look like?” Harry asked. “The person who had the dragon’s egg, I mean?”

“Oh, I never caught sigh’ of ‘is face. Reckon’ he didn’t want to be spotted carrying a dragon’s egg.” Hagrid shrugged. “Can’t say I blame ‘im. Rather funny, fellow. Kept wantin’ to know mo’e about Fluffy and my job ‘ere at Hogwarts.”  
Harry nodded slowly.

“Oi, ye better be gettin’ back to the castle.” Hagrid looked at the clock on his mantle. “It’s getting ter be near curfew.”

“We really should.” Blaise interrupted.

“Yeah, good night, Hagrid.” Draco mumbled, getting up from the table.

“It was rather nice of you three ter come visit.” Hagrid smiled. “Been missing you, ‘arry. Term is endin’ and then you’ll be goin’ for the summer.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Come have a cuppa before you leave, ye hear?”

“Sure thing, Hagrid.”

They headed towards the castle. Twilight had fallen and the grounds were chilly compared to the groundskeeper’s fire-lit hut.

“I have to talk to Hermione.” Harry decided, when the front doors had closed behind them with an echoing thud. “She needs to know what’s going on.”

“What for, Harry?”

“You heard Hagrid – he already knows how to get past Fluffy. Professor Dumbledore is gone. Professor Snape can’t help. There’s no one else to stop him but us.”

“Harry, we don’t know enough magic.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t try.” Harry decided firmly. “He wants the stone to bring back Voldemort. Voldemort. The man who killed my parents! You’ve heard what it was like!” He turned towards the blond. “Draco, if you really believe your father is good, he wouldn’t want him to come back. If he comes back, he’ll try to kill me first. He already took my parents. I won’t let him take anything else.”

“I think I take back my earlier statement.”

“It seems Gryffindor in nature, but it’s got a revenge feeling to it, you know?” Blaise whispered back, appraising Harry.

“You’re agreeing to it?”

“I’m not sure.”

Harry ignored the two and continued to Gryffindor Tower. He knocked on the portrait, assuring the Fat Lady he just needed to talk to Hermione and wasn’t trying to break in.

“Harry!” Hermione smiled, enveloping his senses with wildflowers and soap. “What are you doing here? How do you think you did on your exams? Oh, I’m so glad they’re over.

“Hullo, ‘Mione.” Harry returned the hug.

He led his friends towards an empty classroom, warily listening for the sounds of approaching footsteps as he recounted the situation to Hermione. She seemed hesitant, but agreed nonetheless.

“Of course I’ll help, Harry.”

He turned towards Draco and Blaise.

“You know he’s going to do it anyway.” Draco pointed out.

“Fine.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to get the Stone first.” Harry decided, thinking. “We’ll go right after curfew – we can all hide under my invisibility cloak.”

“Your what?!”

Harry flushed.

“Alright, how do we get past Fluffy?” Hermione asked, after Harry had told them about receiving the anonymous Christmas gift.

“Music.” Harry frowned. “Do any of you have any ideas for that one?”

“I can play a little bit of piano.” Hermione shrugged.

“So can I – rather well, actually.” Draco bragged. “But as neither of us have a piano, that fact won’t help us, will it?”

“What if we can’t get past the enchantments?”

“We figure something out then. But it’s worth a try! This is the future we’re talking about.”

“Harry, we could get expelled.” Hermione frowned.

“Then we get expelled!” he wanted to shout. “Don’t you realize how important this is? Voldemort killed my parents. So you’re either part of the mission or part of the problem!”

“I told you it was a revenge thing.” Blaise whispered.

“It’s settled then.”

“Curfew is in twenty minutes.” Draco pointed out, casting a tempus charm. “If we’re going to use the invisibility cloak we’ll need to get it now. We can’t sneak out after the wards are up.”

“There aren’t any wards.” Harry shrugged it off.

“You said –”

“They were only up for winter break.” Harry explained. “Snape found you that night near the Astronomy Tower by coincidence. I thought the wards were still up too, but I asked. ‘Just because I took them down doesn’t mean you’re allowed to wander, Mr. Potter.’” Harry copied the baritone voice. “’but as seventh years don’t have an early curfew, it’s merely inconvenient on my end.’ They’re just protective enchantments now.”

“We should still return before curfew.” Blaise brought up. “If the prefects notice we’re missing, this entire plan is ruined before it begins.”

“True.”

“Alright, we’ll make ourselves present and get the cloak. We’ll meet back here at midnight; seventh years have to be in the common room by eleven-thirty and he won’t try anything before that.”

“Okay.”

The three Slytherins returned to their Common Room, making a show of talking to Theo and Pansy for a few minutes before going upstairs to their room. Harry threw himself on his bed, feeling the excitement of the day come crashing down. He was exhausted.

Blaise and Draco skimmed through their barely-used Defense textbook, hoping to absorb something that would prove useful during their mission, as Harry had called it. Harry took a shower to pass the time – and to appease Draco.

Midnight came soon enough.

Harry opened his trunk and rifled for the shimmering cloak. Amongst the broken quills and crumpled up assignments, he found the hand-made flute Hagrid had gifted him for Christmas. He pulled it out, grinning.

Then stopped.

“I don’t know how to play.” he murmured, as he blew into the mouthpiece. It gave a sound akin to tunneled air. He tried again, but still no music played.

“You’re holding it wrong.” Blaise groaned, as he snatched the instrument from Harry’s hand. “What are you trying to play, an oboe?” He held it horizontal and positioned his fingers over the first three holes. With an annoyed shake off his head, he blew over the mouthpiece. A soft tune played from the flute and Harry grinned again.

“You’re in charge of putting Fluffy to sleep, then.”

“Merlin.”

They pulled their bed-curtains shut, slipped on their shoes, and fitted themselves underneath the cloak of invisibility.

“Will Granger even fit under this?” Draco asked.

“Hush.”

They turned the lights off and creaked the door open. The hallway was empty and with a gentle shuffle, the three made their way downstairs, and after assuring no one was sitting in the common room, they crept out into the corridor.

It took several minutes to reach the empty classroom by Gryffindor Tower, but Hermione fit just fine underneath the cloak and the made their way to the third floor corridor.

Peeves, the infamous poltergeist Harry had yet to meet, heard the rustle of hidden fabric and called out for identification. Worried that his investigation would call the attention of Filch or another patrolling professor, Hermione cast the quietest levitation spell she could manage at a nearby bust and let it drop with a loud thud. The poltergeist went to investigate immediately and the four scurried away.

“That was Peeves.” Harry breathed.

“You haven’t met him?” Hermione shuddered, as they treaded carefully on the stairs. “He is such a hassle to deal with.”

“No.”

“He’s afraid of the Bloody Baron.” Blaise murmured in explanation. “He’s the only one in the castle who can even control him. And the Bloody Baron won’t let him near the dungeons, let alone a Slytherin.”

“Thank Merlin for that.”

They reached the third floor corridor, and after ensuring the invisibility cloak wasn’t dragging behind, carefully closed the heavy doors to the forbidden East Wing. Harry folded up the cloak and looked around, before tucking it into an alcove.

“Remember where it is, just in case.” he told everyone.

“He’s already here.” Draco whispered, pointing to a door that had been left ajar. Heavy breathing could be heard from the other side.

“Then we need to hurry.”

The peered into the dimly lit chamber at the end of the corridor, and found themselves staring into three pairs of eyes. The dog’s growled.

“Blaise, start playing!”

The flute was already in trembling hands and Blaise began to play the first song that came to mind – which had to be the Incy Wincy Spider, of all things. Draco looked at him in bewilderment.

“It was the first thing I learned to play.” Blaise rushed out defensively, hurriedly returning to the notes as Fluffy started to growl in response. The dog’s eyelids began to droop.

“The first thing I learned to play was Clair de Lune.” Draco smirked.

It took a few minutes for the beast to fall asleep, its three heads resting awkwardly on top of two paws. They crept closer and with a hard tug, managed to open the heavy trap door beside one of the heads.

“I can’t see the bottom.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ll go first, then.” Harry volunteered, already sitting down. “Don’t come down until I say it’s alright, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Draco grimaced.

“If I don’t say anything…” Harry shuddered, thinking about the possibility. “Grab the cloak and find Snape.”

“Why can’t we tell Snape now and make him do it.”

“It would be…more politic, if Snape stayed out of it.” Harry explained, exasperatedly. “However, I don’t think politics matter if I’m already dead!”

“Don’t say that.”

“You can only get Snape if there’s real trouble.” Harry insisted and with a quick draw of breath, he let himself fall into the darkness below.

Harry fell for what felt like a very long time before he landed on something soft and springy. Looking around him, he couldn’t make anything but the tiny square of light above him.

“It’s alright!” Harry called out. “It’s a soft landing!” he added, feeling the material underneath him. It was smooth like velvet.

A shadow blocked the light and the figure too fell into the darkness, landing beside Harry with a soft rustle.

“You owe me.” Draco warned.

“Look out!” Hermione called from above, and the two remaining first years jumped at the same time.

Harry tried to wriggle out of the way.

“Oh, this is soft.” Hermione noticed, as she turned towards Harry. “Oh, gods, this isn’t good!”

“What?”

“Look at your legs!” Hermione exclaimed, kicking out as a curving root tried to grab hold of her foot. She looked around, frantic. “There!” she shouted, pointing towards a dark hallway to the right. “That’s the way out.”

She struggled against the oncoming vines, but managed to escape the binding plant. Blaise was right behind her. Harry finally began to notice the roots and vines that were wrapping tightly around his legs, making its way toward his torso. He struggled against it, but the vines wrapped themselves even tighter.

“Hermione!”

“It’s Devil’s Snare.” Blaise realized.

Draco instantly stilled, watching as the vines slowly coiled around his knees. “Harry, you need to stop struggling. It’s only going to make it worse.”

“I can’t help it.” Harry cried, feeling panic setting in. He hated, absolutely hated, feeling like he was trapped. And as he continued to struggle against the binding plant, he was most definitely trapped.

“Will you both do something?” Draco demanded, wishing he could just reach over and take Harry’s hand, but he couldn’t risk moving.

“I’m trying to think…” Hermione moaned. “Professor Sprout went over this last term! Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare…it likes the dark and damp.”

“Fire, maybe?” Blaise suggested, replacing the wooden flute with his wand. “Or light?”

“Let’s try both!”

“ _Lumos Maxima_!” Blaise shouted out, at the same time Hermione cast her familiar blue flames. The blue and gold hit the plant and within seconds, the Devil’s Snare began to retreat. Harry felt his panic thin as the vines started to let him go.

With a thump, the two landed on the ground.

“Well, that was fun.” Draco muttered, dryly.

“Come on!” Harry hurried forwards, earlier anxieties long forgotten.

They walked down the corridor, wands out, and alert for anything that could come their way. A door waited at the end of the corridor.

Slowly, Harry opened the door and peered inside. Hundreds of little birds were swarming inside the chamber, another door waiting at the end.

“Do you think they’ll attack?”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“Let’s hurry then.” Harry ordered, as he put his arms over his head and ran into the brightly lit chamber. When nothing happened, the others followed.

The door on the other side was locked.

“There has to be a way to open this.” Hermione murmured, as she cast an _Alohomora_ to no success.

Harry looked around the room, noticing the brooms on the other end. “Brooms!” he pointed out. A soft glinting caught his eye. “Those aren’t birds! They’re keys.”

Blaise examined the lock. “It’s going to be rather old-fashioned and silver.”

Harry and Draco mounted the two available brooms, and after ten minutes of desperate searching, they spotted a matching key with ruffled wings. It was fast and darted out of their grasp, but Harry hadn’t been made Seeker for nothing.

“Got it!”

They unlocked the door and hurried on.

Another corridor greeted them and another door waited for them at the end. Harry opened the door and peered in, but the chamber remained dark until the four students had filed in and the door closed behind them.

Shadows formed as light was cast into the room, falling over stone figures that waited before them and onto a giant chessboard that glinted from behind. Harry tried to walk past, but a knight stood before him and held out his flail threateningly.

Harry took a step back.

“How do we get across then?”

Draco gulped. “We’ll have to play, right?” He looked up at the knight, grimacing when it nodded in response. “Alright, well.” he stepped closer to look at the board. “How good are you at chess, Hermione?”

“Not very.”

“Alright, you take that first rook then.” Draco instructed, trying to recall his quickest game of chess. “If this game goes well, we won’t need to play either.”

“Okay.” Hermione nodded nervously, stepping up to the board and replacing the castle piece that removed itself from the board.

“I need you both to pay attention.” Draco told the other two firmly. “If you think either of your pieces are in danger of being taken out, let me know. I don’t want to know what will happen.” He eyed the stone flail anxiously.

Blaise nodded.

“Alright, Harry, why don’t you be the first knight?” Draco closed his eyes in concentration. “Blaise, you can be the first bishop.”

“What about you?”

“The Queen is the most powerful piece in the game…” Draco began with a grin. “Alright, I have a plan. I’ll be the second bishop.”

They took their places and Draco faced the white pieces. “You may begin,” he commanded and felt his breath catch when their chosen pawn slid forward. He nodded and moved a pawn of his own to match.

When the white pieces moved the second knight, Draco turned to Harry. “I need you to match their move, Harry: two up and one to the left.”

Harry complied.

The white pieces moved their knight once more, taking a black pawn with it. The four winced as the knight brandished his flail and swung, shattering the pawn into dust. Draco swallowed, fear started to choke him.

“Harry, if you do the same move from earlier, you can take their fourth pawn.” Draco began, scrutinizing the board with apprehension.

“Draco!” Blaise called out. “That puts him right in the path of their knight. He’ll be gone in their next move.”

Draco considered that and realized it to be true. “Oh, Merlin.” he groaned, for he nearly killed Harry off himself.

“Move the second knight instead.”

“Okay.” Draco agreed and sacrificed his second knight.

The game continued and after Draco seized the opposing knight, he grinned. “Alright, Harry, now you can do the move: two up and one to the left; take their fourth pawn.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Harry took his new place and created an open path for the white bishop to take their queen. “Oh, no!’ he cried, for they had lost their most important piece.

Draco, however, was grinning. “Blaise, take that third pawn.”

He did and the other side took the bait, and chose to move their king forward, putting him in play. “Stupid, stupid.” he murmured, and moved his own piece opposite of Blaise, effectively trapping the king with nothing short of eight moves. “Checkmate.” he declared proudly.

The remaining pieces all moved aside and the four hurried to the door at the other end. When they had entered the now familiar corridor, Harry turned to Draco and hugged him.

“You did it!”

“He almost killed you.” Blaise pointed out.

Harry hugged Blaise too. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Why did you let them have the Queen?” Hermione asked, as they treaded forwards.

“It was a distraction.” Draco explained. “If they were too busy trying to capture our strongest piece, they wouldn’t notice how I was trying to lure their King out of hiding.”

“It was brilliant.”

They entered the next room, Draco’s heart stopping as he recognized the foul odor. To their relief, the troll, who appeared six feet bigger than the one they had encountered on Halloween, was already knocked out cold, a nasty bump protruding on top of his swollen head.

“Thank goodness for that.” Hermione gagged, covering her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her gray jumper.

“How much longer do we have?” Harry asked, as they approached another door.

“This should be the last one.” Hermione thought aloud. “If the chess board was Professor McGonagall’s – everyone in Gryffindor knows she’s a brilliant at it, and if all the Heads participated, that just leaves Snape.”

Unsure of what they’d find, the group proceeded.

Blaise, Hermione, and Harry were the only ones who were able to enter the small room before purple flames shot up from the doorway.

“Hey!”

“Draco, don’t try to go over!” Harry yelled, watching as black flames burst from their opposing door.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

He turned to the others for help, but Blaise and Hermione were already gathered around the only thing in the room. A series of phials were lined up on an otherwise regular-looking table. Hermione was holding onto a sheet of paper, a grin on her face.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a riddle!” Hermione laughed, and moved aside to let Harry see.

The parchment indeed held a riddle, the rhyming sentences written in Professor Snape’s familiar scrawl. It only took a few moments for them to figure it out.

“Alright,” Hermione began, picking up two different bottles. “These are both nettle wine.” She set aside three bottles. “These are the poisons.”

Blaise picked up a crystal blue phial. “This one will let you move forward.”

Harry took it, studying the diamond stopper. “There’s barely enough for one swallow,” he noticed. “What about that one?”

Hermione picked up the rose-tinted bottle. “This one should take us back, but it’s empty.”

“Alright.” Harry unstopped the phial. “I’m going to go on.”

“Harry, you can’t do this on your own.”

He shook the bottle in response. “There isn’t anything missing from this and the other one is gone. Maybe Quirrell couldn’t figure it out and went to get answers from Snape. I’ll try to find the Stone.”

“Then what?”

Harry looked at the flames. “You see how the fire doesn’t touch the top? If I find it, I’ll throw the Stone over to you and you throw it over to Draco. Then Draco, you take a broom from Flitwick’s enchantment and fly out of here.”

“What about Fluffy?”

“You’ll be on a broom, you git.” Blaise reminded him.

“After that, get a letter to Professor Dumbledore.” Harry continued. “And keep the Stone safe. We can wait here until morning. If Quirrell comes back, he won’t be able to get past the purple flames.”

“Okay.”

With another deep breath, Harry took the potion. It was chilling, as if he had been dropped into the Black Lake in the middle of winter. He gave Blaise and Hermione one last look and stepped through the flames.

He entered a room scarcely lit from distant torches. The flames flickered and cast shadows on the dusty stone walls. He crossed the antechamber and peered through the final doorway. It was a large room, circular in shape, with dozens of torches clinging to spiderweb-clad walls. Steps led down to the center of the room, where a large and familiar mirror sat waiting.

A shadow stood before the mirror.


	21. One Last Time.

“I thought you might show up.” Professor Quirrell called out, but this time, his voice was still. The usual stutter had gone.

“Y-you’re already here.”

“I feel I should be surprised you managed to get past all the enchantments, but then again, I know you to be a very powerful wizard, Harry Potter.”

“My friends helped me.” Harry forced out, as he tried to find the Stone within the room. 

“They cannot help you from here, can they?” Quirrell asked, as he glanced towards the antechamber. “Yes, I thought you might bring friends. That’s why I took the liberty of draining the Intumescent Potion, to keep your friends from returning to the castle and calling for help.”

Harry stayed silent.

“Yes, Severus assured me he’d keep you out of the way, but we both know you don’t trust him anymore. For good reason, too, I should say. Do you know who he is? Or rather, what he is? What I will become when I resurrect my Master?”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Harry couldn’t help but defend his Head of House. 

“No?” Quirrell turned around. “My boy, how do you think I got past his enchantment without using any of the potion?” He pulled out an empty phial, identical to the one Harry had taken. “He handed this to me, after he had assured me Dumbledore had fallen for the letter. Severus is quite good at forging the Minister’s signature. I must admit, that will prove useful later on.”

Harry bit his tongue. 

“But you don’t seem surprised about that, do you?” Quirrell gathered. “No, you’ve had your doubts about him for a long time now.”

“He’s been helping you.”

“Well, I would prefer to take all the credit for bringing back the Dark Lord but, I suppose I wouldn’t have been able to do it without him, what with getting rid of Dumbledore and working endlessly to brew a Draught of Resurrection.”

“I thought it was the Elixir of Life.”

“My, my, you do do your research, don’t you?” Quirrell pursed. “The Draught is intense Dark Magic, obscure and extremely temperamental. It takes several months to brew and when it is crystal clear and smells of freesia, the Philosopher’s Stone does the rest. Now, I have to do my part and retrieve the Stone for Severus, who is finishing the potion as we speak. He says it is hidden in the mirror, I must only figure out where.”

Harry could only think of keeping him distracted, to keep him from discovering how the mirror worked. “I suppose you do have to be the one to retrieve the Stone, huh? Only Professor Snape could brew such a difficult potion.”

“Oh, don’t give him all the credit.” Quirrell waved the comment away. “The fool wouldn’t have figured out the Elixir if it weren’t for me. He was experimenting with mercury, mandrake root, and a damn Awakening Potion.” Quirrell laughed. “He’s lucky he didn’t poison himself by accident, but that’s dedication, I suppose. No, I had to travel to Moldova and track down the last remaining wizard who knew about the Draught. He’s dead now, of course.”

Quirrell circled the mirror, reaching out to touch the frame. “I don’t understand…” he trailed off. “He said…I can see myself holding the Stone. I am presenting it to my Master, but where is the Stone?” He fingered the crack. “Do I have to break it? Oh, Master, what must I do?”

A voice whispered through the room. It came from Quirrell, but his lips did not move. “Use the boy.” it commanded and Harry shrunk into himself.

“Potter.” Quirrell demanded and pointed to the spot next to him.

When Harry did not move, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him forward.

“Tell me, what do you see?”

Harry looked into the mirror and blinked. There he was, pale-faced and shaking, but his reflection winked and pulled a brilliantly red stone out of his pocket and offered a sly grin. Reflection-Harry returned the Stone to his pocket and Harry could suddenly feel something heavy pressing against his leg. 

“Well, what is it?”

“Uh, it’s my parents.” Harry lied, wondering how likely it was he could make it to the antechamber and toss the Stone over before Quirrell stopped him. “They’re hugging me.”

Quirrell groaned and shoved Harry out of the way. 

He fell on his knees and whilst he was facing away, touched his pocket to ensure the Stone was really there. He had just straightened up when the disembodied voice spoke again, the sound sending chills down Harry’s back.

“He lies…”

“Potter!” Quirrell faced him once more. “What did you see in the mirror?”

“Let me speak to him.” the voice demanded and Quirrell paled at the thought.

“Master, you are not strong enough.”

“I am for this, Quirinus.” the voice insisted and Harry felt very confused. “Let me see him.” 

Quirrell acquiesced, and removed the violet turban from his head. Harry caught the scent of something foul, but he could not place it. Before he could fathom what was going on, the man turned around to reveal something he never could have imagined on his own.

Another face stuck out from the back of Quirrell’s head.

This one was white and wrinkled, like flesh that been held underwater for too long. The eyes were as red as the Philosopher’s Stone Harry had seen in the Mirror of Erised, two snake-like slits in place of where a nose should be.

“Do you see what I have become, Harry Potter?” the face asked him, no longer sounding muffled, but still weak. “I am nothing but a wisp of broken soul, not quite existing in either plane. I can adhere to another, tether myself to the mortal world, but I am not myself as I once was.” 

“Voldemort.”

“I am what you see only because of my loyal servants. Unicorn blood has kept me strong thus far, but I need more if I wish to become corporeal again. Help me, Harry Potter, and give me the stone in your pocket, and I shall allow you to live. Come, stand beside me, and I will show you mercy.”

“You killed my parents!” Harry shouted, as he took steps backwards towards the antechamber. “I would never join you.”

“Do not be stupid, Harry Potter.” Lord Voldemort warned, coming closer. “You were but an infant when we last met, and still, you defeated me. I would not wish for such strong magic to go to waste. You and I, together, we could be unstoppable.”

“You’re evil.” Harry spat out. “And I am not evil.”

“There is no such thing as good or evil.” Voldemort hissed. “There is only power and those too weak to seek it. I have seen the snake on your robes. I know you are nothing like your darling parents. You are ambitious, aren’t you? I know you crave power. Isn’t that what you want at this very second? To be more powerful than me? We do not need to fight, Harry Potter. Give me the Stone and I will give you more power than you dream of having.”

“I would never!”

“Very well.” Voldemort spat. “Kill him.” 

Quirrell turned back around and Harry used the moment to make a run for it. He staggered as a sharp pain sliced through his ribs. He looked down, eyes widening at the crimson that was beginning to stain his jumper.

“There’s trouble!” Harry yelled, as he reached the antechamber. He hoped his friends would be able to hear him and understand what he meant. 

“They cannot reach you.” Quirrell reminded the boy, wand brandished. “Scream all you want, but they cannot get past the flames.” He grabbed Harry by the wrist and Harry did scream, as his scar erupted into a blinding haze of pain. 

“What is this?” Quirrell shouted, as he let go of Harry’s hand.

Harry looked over to see the man’s hand had blistered over, looking quite raw and painful. 

“Never mind, that.” Voldemort hissed. “Get the boy.”

Professor Quirrell reached out again, but had to release him when the pain of touching The Boy Who Lived became too much. Harry realized with a start what was happening and instead of making a run for it, he reached out with both hands and grabbed hold of Quirrell’s face.

The Defense teacher shrieked in agony, nails digging into Harry’s skin as he desperately tried to force the child off him. Harry felt like his head was going to burst from the immense pressure on his scar, his vision already spotting, but he clenched his jaw and held on.

“Kill him!” Voldemort demanded of Quirrell.

Consciousness wavering, Harry heard a thud and a horrifying screech as the professor collapsed on to the stone floor. The pain in his scar was ebbing, but his knees buckled, and Harry could no longer keep himself standing. He was terrified of never waking up. 

He fell to the floor, grimacing as the gash on his ribs was disturbed. He tried to move his hands, tried to peel off blood-soaked clothing to inspect the damage, but found himself too weak to move. 

The room was faltering, waves of nausea and darkness rolling over him, but he could hear someone calling out his name. He wanted to respond, to assure them he was in here, and alive, but the ground disappeared beneath him and his ribs screamed in protest. 

He felt his body go numb, but he was no longer afraid. His eyes fluttered shut and he found comfort in the familiar scent of mint and gentle smoke. 

\--

“You’re awake.”

The words were sharp, the undertone angry. 

Harry tried to open his eyes, confusion coursing through his body at the words. He was met with bright light, and he had to blink for several minutes before he could see properly. He was in the hospital wing – again.

“Hunmph?” Harry wasn’t sure what he had been trying to say, but his tongue felt like cotton in his mouth. He was grateful when a cup of water was pressed against his lips.

“Drink.”

He complied, as he tried to recall why he was here. “The stone,” he croaked out, trying to remember what had happened at the end. “Where –”

“That is none of your concern.” 

Harry tried to find the source of the voice, regretting it when he caught sight of the absolutely livid expression on Professor Snape’s face. 

“Professor.” Harry greeted, weakly.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry looked away and tried to move his limbs. Nothing hurt worse than a dull ache and he found that to be a very good thing. 

“You should feel lucky you didn’t bleed out on the floor.” Professor Snape told him, correctly interpreting the relief on his face. Harry winced at the harsh tone of voice. “If Draco had retrieved any other professor but me, there would have been little chance of them thinking to use a stasis charm on the wound. You would have been dead by the time you exited the chamber.”

“Thank you.” he offered, still not meeting the professor’s gaze. 

“I told you to stay out of it.”

“You said the stone was safe.” Harry protested. 

“It always was.”

“You sent Dumbledore away!” Harry accused, finally turning to his Head of House. “You’re the reason he even had a chance of getting it.”

Professor Snape inhaled deeply, eyes closed in frustration. “Professor Dumbledore knew the letter was fake. It was a ploy, you insufferable…” he trailed off. 

Harry stopped. “I don’t understand.”

Severus put a hand over his face, fingers curling in angry exasperation. He opened his eyes and looked at Harry with nothing short of disdain. “Did you not stop to think why the Philosopher’s Stone was at Hogwarts in the first place, you idiot child? Quirrell was supposed to go after it. Merlin, I told you to stay out of it, and what did you do?”

“You lied to me.” Harry snapped in realization.

“I never lied to you.” Severus returned. “The Stone was safe all along. I simply kept out what you didn’t need to know.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t like that.”

“You don’t have to.” Severus closed his eyes again and shook his head. “For Merlin’s sake, Harry, what were you even thinking?”

The words were still sharp, but the initial anger had gone. 

“I was thinking I didn’t want Voldemort to return.” Harry admitted, his voice small. “I was thinking I would get the Stone before him and hide it, until Dumbledore returned.”

“Merlin.” Severus breathed out, his face scrunched in what Harry could only assume was exhaustion and acute concern. “You have been in the hospital wing for two days now, you stupid, insufferable, reckless child.” Harry’s stomach clenched at the information. “Unconscious by your own merit.” Severus swallowed thickly. “I should get Madame Pomfrey.”

"Wait, what about Quirrell? What happened to him?" Harry asked, attempting to sit up. 

Snape put a hand against his shoulder and pushed him back down. "He didn't make it. The Dark Lord left nothing but an empty shell of the man he used to be. It seemed Quirrell’s life was clinging on to him as much as You-Know-Who was clinging to Quirrell."

"He’s dead?" Harry asked in shock.

Holding back a sigh, Severus stood up and headed towards Madame Pomfrey’s door. "You can't save everyone, Mr. Potter." he told him, sadly. "Get some rest now, it's late."

He knocked on the door and held a whispered conversation with the mediwitch before leaving the infirmary. He didn’t spare Harry another glance.

“It’s good to see you awake, Harry.” Madame Pomfrey smiled, as she approached the boy’s bedside. “Gave us quite a fright, to see the state you were in.” She pulled out her wand and cast a diagnostic spell. “A little dehydrated,” she tutted. “but looks like you won’t need another blood replenishing potion. The cut on your side was quite bad, dear, a Cutting Hex by the looks of it. Thank goodness it wasn’t anything Dark, but there’s still a scar. It’s rather thin in comparison to the actual thing, at least. It looks like your concussion is gone too.” Madame Pomfrey smiled at Harry again, vanishing the scroll to Harry’s medical file. 

“Thank you.” Harry whispered, feeling like a small child.

“It’s my job, Harry.” Madame Pomfrey assured kindly, but a second later, her voice turned brisk. “Honestly, what were you thinking going down to the chamber yourself?” She shook her head. “What’s done is done, I suppose. Perhaps now Severus will get some sleep.”

Harry looked up in confusion. 

“Oh, goodness, I forget how stubborn that man can be.” she shook her head, refilling the water glass on Harry’s bedside table and pulling his blanket up to his chin. “He hasn’t left the hospital wing since he brought you here; made all your friends feel rather uneasy when they came to see you.”

“My friends came?” he deflected, knowing Professor Snape wouldn’t appreciate Harry being told just how worried he had been. 

“Oh, yes.” Madame Pomfrey dimmed the lights. “But never mind that. It’s the middle of the night, Mr. Potter. Get some more rest. I’m sure they’ll be eager to see you in the morning.” 

“Yes, mam.” 

When Harry awoke next, it was to sunlight streaming through curtain-parted windows. Something gold glinted in the room and as Harry rubbed sleep out of his eyes, he was surprised to find Professor Dumbledore sitting beside him.

“Oh, morning, professor.”

“Good morning, Harry.” the headmaster replied with a smile. He was holding a red and blue spotted mug that matched his ostentatious robes. “Would you care for some tea?”

“Oh, yes please.”

The Headmaster didn’t speak until Harry was sitting up, two pillows propped behind his back, and a colorful mug of English Breakfast was in his hands. 

“I heard you had quite the adventure, my dear boy.” 

“I just didn’t want Quirrell to get the Stone.” Harry repeated, for what felt like the thousandth time.

“All is well, Harry, all is well.” Dumbledore assured, taking a sip of tea. “After all, it is better to take preventive measures than risk the return of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry was surprised to find Dumbledore had supported his plan when Professor Snape was so adamant that he had been reckless and impulsive. 

“Of course, Professor Quirrell was never likely to get the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“How so, sir?”

“Merely a trap of my own invention.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I hid the Stone within the Mirror of Erised, as you saw, but only someone who wanted the stone, but did not wish to use it, could even hope of getting it. It was fairly brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

Harry nodded, deflating. 

“Sir, Professor Snape tells me Quirrell is dead.” 

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Alas, he could not be saved.”

“Voldemort was attached to him, to the back of his head.” Harry explained. “What happened to him, is he dead too?”

“Unfortunately, by the time Professor Snape arrived, Voldemort was long gone. He’s going to try to find a new host, but until then, we shall wait for him to return.”

“He isn’t dead.” Harry mumbled sadly. “Sir, why does Voldemort want to kill me so badly? What did I ever do?”

The twinkle disappeared. “Voldemort didn’t want resistance, Harry. He wanted power. He seeked out those who defied him, who spoke against him.” Dumbledore stared at Harry intently. “Your parents were incredibly brave, Harry, and they stood for what was right. It cost them, and many others, their lives, but we won the war because of sacrifices like theirs. As for you, I believe it is revenge. Voldemort had been taken down by a child and when he found a host who could carry him, his first plan was simply vengeance.”

Harry nodded, understanding. 

“I regret that you are not yet free from his retribution.”

“Of course not.” Harry muttered to himself. “Sir?” he asked after a moment, for something still did not make sense. “If Quirrell was meant to go after the Stone this entire time, why did you make it so difficult to happen?”

“Professor Quirrell, Harry, although I suppose that no longer matters.” Dumbledore chuckled. “We couldn’t have him suspecting it was a trap, could we? We had to pretend the safety of the Stone was our utmost priority – make him want it even more.”

“That makes sense,” Harry agreed, still trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. “But why wait so long to leave the castle, sir? Why not let him go after it when he had attempted on Halloween?”

Dumbledore took another sip of tea. “I’m sure you noticed, Harry, how Professor Quirrell hadn’t been faring very well, recently?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Being a host to Voldemort weakened him. He would not have been able to last much longer, even with a steady supply of unicorn blood. The Philosopher’s Stone was kept at Hogwarts as a lure, if you will, to keep Voldemort close by. It was no coincidence that Hagrid introduced you to Quirinus that day in The Leaky Cauldron.”

“You used me as bait.”

“No, Harry, not in the slightest.” Dumbledore assured. “The bait was Quirinus overhearing Hagrid boast about his important Hogwarts business.”

“From there, I gave Quirrell the position of Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, ensuring that I could keep a close eye on Voldemort. As the year wore on, Professor Quirrell became quite sickly. Professor Snape and I worried he wouldn’t make it to the plan’s end.”

“What was the end?”

“Professor Quirrell would try tirelessly to retrieve the stone for his master, but as he wanted to use it, he could never retrieve it. The mirror would captivate him, ensnare him as it nearly did you, and wither away what little was left of him.

Harry shuddered at the thought; it was absolutely morbid.

“And Voldemort, sir?”

“Voldemort is neither human nor ghost, Harry. He is not quite dead, but never fully crossed over. A paradox in existence, if you shall. 

“A wisp of broken soul.” Harry repeated the chilling words.

Dumbledore stood up and wandered to a table laden with gifts Harry hadn’t noticed. There was an elegant bouquet of flowers, three different stuffed animals, a colorful assortment of cards, and a few messily wrapped packages. “It seems you have friends in many places, Harry.” Dumbledore smiled, as he read the tag on the flowers. 

“Sir?”

“With warmest regards, Narcissa Malfoy.” he read aloud, eyeing the vase of azaleas and daisies with a cheery smile. “Oh, I do love flowers.”

Harry waited.

“Essentially, yes.” Dumbledore confirmed. “When Quirrell met his untimely end, Voldemort would have no host to adhere to and be nothing but indistinct spirit. Have you ever heard, my boy, how a mirror can parallel a similar realm? Many cultures choose to turn over their mirrors when someone passes, in fear that their soul will become trapped in an inaccessible plane.” 

“Voldemort was supposed to get trapped in the Mirror of Erised.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Alas, Quirinus did not die in front of the mirror as I had hoped, and what remained of Voldemort fled soon after.” 

Harry bit his lip as he realized he had ruined the plan. If he had only listened to Professor Snape, it would have been all over. 

“Do not fret, my boy. You did what you thought was right.” He paused. “Ah, I think I hear your friends coming.”

Sure enough, the door to the infirmary burst open and Draco peered on. “Harry!” he exclaimed, when he noticed the boy was awake. He turned back to the corridor. “He’s not in here.”

“Thank Merlin for that.” 

“Sir?” Harry asked, as the door opened further and Draco stepped in, followed by Blaise, Theo, Hermione, Adrian Pucey, Cassius Warrington, and the Weasley twins. “If I may ask, what do you see in the Mirror? I asked Snape once, but he…”

Dumbledore smiled. “Desires can be very personal things, Harry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“However, there is no harm in asking.” Dumbledore assured, nodding at the incoming students in greeting. “I see myself wearing a nice pair of woolen socks.”

“Sir?”

“Everyone always gifts me books these days.” the Headmaster chuckled. “Oh, how I would love to receive a pair of warm socks.”

“You’re alive mate!” a Weasley twin cheered, as the other ruffled Harry’s head, distracting him from his odd conversation with Dumbledore. 

Adrian Pucey gripped his shoulder and Cassius Warrington gave him an apologetic smile before warning him, “Flint is going to skin you alive.”

“What, why?” Harry asked.

The Quidditch players shared a look with each other. “Kid, it’s Sunday.” Adrian clarified, looking at Harry with an expectant expression.

Harry blinked. “The match!” he cried out, as he remembered the final game against Hufflepuff that was supposed to be held on Saturday. “Oh, no, what happened?”

“As Slytherin didn’t have a Seeker on reserve, they were not allowed to play.” Dumbledore answered, as he made his way towards the door. “The match was cancelled.”

“Oh, no.”

“However, as there is still a week of term left…” Dumbledore trailed off. “If you can get both Madame Pomfrey’s and Professor Snape’s explicit permission, I don’t see why we couldn’t reschedule it.” He winked at the group and excused himself. 

“That’s it then, the game’s not happening.” Adrian moaned.

“It’s not?” Harry asked, in a small voice.

“You’ve been unconscious, kid.” Adrian reminded him. “You have not seen how absolutely livid Snape is right now. I’m surprised these three haven’t been expelled yet.” He gestured towards Draco, Blaise, and Hermione.

“Whilst he can make suggestions, that power lies with the Headmaster.” Hermione shrugged, who had taken the chair at Harry’s bedside and was resting a hand on Harry’s arm. “And Professor Dumbledore isn’t even upset about it.”

“I’ll convince him.” Harry promised, for he had already talked with Professor Snape and he was positive the man was more worried than angry. He was sure he could work out an agreement yet. 

\--

It turned out to be harder to convince Madame Pomfrey than Snape.

“You should be punished for your expedition, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape told him, when Harry had been released from the infirmary the following day. “Although, I suspect your injuries were punishment enough.” Snape exhaled. “Seeing as how I don’t wish Gryffindor to win the House Cup this year, I’ll allow the match to happen – given that you actually succeed in catching the snitch.”

Harry grinned, thanking him endlessly.

Madame Pomfrey on the other hand…

“Absolutely not!” the mediwitch stressed, when Harry had visited her on Wednesday. Harry had thought convincing Snape would be the tiring part and had, therefore, asked him first. When his response had been positive, he had immediately notified Flint.

“What?” Harry pleaded. “Come on, I’m doing all better. You said so yourself!”

“You’re only just doing better.” Madame Pomfrey corrected. “The last thing you need is to end up in the infirmary in such a short span of time.”

“Oh, but I won’t!”

It took several more minutes of arguing before the mediwitch relinquished. The final game was rescheduled for the very next day. Flint, who no longer looked like he wished to consume Harry, clapped him on the back appreciatively when he learned the game was happening.

It hurt, quite a lot. 

The next day, Harry donned his green jersey and pads for the very last time as a first-year Seeker. He listened to Flint give his last pep talk as a sixth year team captain and even joined in when the rest of the team offered their congratulations, appreciations, and well-wishes to Miles Bletchley, their seventh-year Keeper. 

“It’s gonna be hard to replace you,” Flint told him, clasping him on the back, and Harry was secretly relieved to see the older boy wince at their captain’s strength. He would make a good beater, it seemed. 

“Alright, team.” Flint nodded at the others. “Let’s win this so Snape doesn’t disband us next year. Slytherin!” 

“Slytherin!” Harry yelled for the last time – he realized – with this specific group of people. They marched onto the field and played their final game of the year. 

Slytherin won. 

Slytherin House celebrated two victories that night, as it was unlikely that another house would be able to rack enough points to win the house cup in a day. There was a table laden with easy snacks and sweets, sparkling pumpkin juice, blueberry champagne, and even a bottle of firewhiskey that was being passed between the fifth years and above. 

Harry couldn’t stop grinning, ecstatic that the school year was ending on such a good note.

He played a few games of Exploding Snap, tried out a round of Gobstones, stole a sip of champagne when no one was looking, and feasted on chocolate cauldrons and butterscotch until he felt sick. 

The next morning was bittersweet.

It was the last full day at Hogwarts, the last time he would enter a classroom as a first year, and the last time he would wander the corridors for several months. The Leaving Feast was tonight and tomorrow, they would all board the Express. 

His stomach clenched at the thought; he had been avoiding thinking about it all week. 

Harry put on his school uniform, knowing he wouldn’t be missing this. Even though Draco had shown him how to knot a tie – several times, in fact – he was still easily bested by the striped fabric. 

None of the teachers had actual lessons for the last week of term.

Professor Flitwick had pitted the students against each other, letting them charm a variety of trinkets and racing them across the room for extra credit. Professor Sprout did something similar, and gave a verbal pop quiz over the plants they had studied that year for house points. 

Professor McGonagall insisted on silent review, Defense and Astronomy were over for the year, and History of Magic was being treated as a free period, even though Professor Binns continued to drone, his concept of time long forgotten. 

The only teacher who still made the students do work was Snape.

“You have thirty minutes to brew.” he instructed to a classroom of bewildered students. “As you have been brewing potions for a full school year now, and this is the last time you shall brew for several weeks, I expect exemplary potions.”

Harry stayed behind, waiting for the classroom to empty before presenting his bottled potion. It was an interesting shade of green.

“I expected more from you, Mr. Potter.” Snape studied the bottle disapprovingly. 

“Just distracted, I guess.”

“That excuses your mistakes how?”

Harry exhaled heavily. “It doesn’t.”

“Precisely.” 

Harry frowned, casting his eyes at the floor.

“There is something you wish to discuss.” Professor Snape inferred, setting the phial aside and studying the boy instead.

Harry shrugged.

Professor Snape sighed. “As you will no doubt take an eternity and a half to spit it out, at least let me lock up the classroom before a different student wants to enter with an asinine question. I am officially done with classes for the year and I do not wish to be bothered with class-related inquiries until next September.” 

Harry managed a smile at that, following the professor into the corridor. 

Severus cast a locking charm on his classroom door and gestured forward, choosing to walk to his quarters in silence than attempt mindless conversation. He slipped off his cloak, ordered tea, and sat down at the kitchen table with a contemptuous look at Harry. 

“Well?” he asked, when Mimsey returned with a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea. 

“The school year is over.”

“How very observant of you, Mr. Potter.” 

“I’m just not ready to go home, is all.” Harry shrugged, feeling nervous. “I’ll be fine, professor.” He forced a smile.

“I’m sure you will.” Snape murmured, internally wincing for this was the conversation he had been hoping to avoid.

He had indeed talked to Dumbledore about Harry Potter’s home situation one last time, just as he had promised himself, to no avail. 

The boy had been unconscious for a full day when the Headmaster had arrived at the infirmary. Severus, who had refused to leave his side until he could ensure the child was alright himself, had chosen that opportunity to remind Dumbledore of their earlier conversation.

“The year is ending.”

“I’m sure you’re relieved to be getting a break from so many students.” 

“You cannot send him back there.”

“Severus.” Dumbledore sighed, as he sat down in a chair opposite of Harry’s bed. “You know it is the best option. I thought after you saw that Voldemort was truly alive, you would be more adamant of the boy’s safety.”

“This is about his safety.”

“Would it appease you then, if we took precautions?” Dumbledore finally asked, a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps then you won’t worry so much?”

“I’m not worried.” Severus snapped, agreeing to the terms. It was as good as he was going to get. 

“I’m sure you’re not.” Dumbledore nodded, getting up and leaving the two in peace. He didn’t need an answer; he already knew the truth. 

“Are you allowed to use the telephone, Mr. Potter?” Severus shook himself out of his thoughts and peered at the boy inquisitively. 

Harry shrugged – he never had a reason to use it.

Severus grimaced, but Dumbledore’s vague suggestion hadn’t been enough to settle his mind. “If I gave you my telephone number, would that make you feel better about going home?”

“You have a telephone?” Harry asked, eyes wide.

“Yes.” Snape closed his eyes. “Keep in mind that you are only to call me in an emergency and not because you wish to discuss your summer escapades.”

Harry nodded rapidly. 

“Very well.” 

Severus got up from the table and retrieved a sheet of parchment and a quill. He scrawled down a series of numbers and pulled out his wand. 

“Put your hand on the paper.” he commanded and cast a complicated spell when the boy obliged. “Now, only you will be able to see the numbers.” Severus explained, as he folded up the parchment and handed it over. 

Harry grinned, feeling his spirits lift up again. 

They lifted even higher when he entered the Great Hall later that evening, to find the room decorated with green and silver. It was official; Slytherin had won the house cup for the eighth year in a row. 

That night, Harry dumped everything out of his trunk. 

He threw away broken quills and empty ink pots, smoothed out graded assignments and kept the ones he was most proud off, and returned long-forgotten library books. He carefully organized everything into his newly-cleaned trunk, reveling in his possessions.

For the longest time, Harry didn’t have very much to his name, and now, now he had a whole trunk full. Books, robes, jumpers that fit just right, a wonderful blue coat, Quidditch gloves, a racing broom, chess pieces, a wooden flute, greeting cards, a few toys, and a cloak of invisibility. 

Harry grinned, as he tucked his father’s cloak at the very bottom.

He sorted through the pile of rubbish that was left on the floor – sweets wrappers, mostly – and picked out a few folded pieces of parchments he knew to be notes passed during class. Memories, as they were.

He opened one to reveal a message from Hermione, when she had first learned about the existence of the trap door. Another one was from Hagrid, when he had invited Harry over to tea the first time around. The other one was a list of books that made him furrow his eyebrows in confusion. 

“Atoms and Alchemy by Wildmere Erantz.” Harry read aloud the familiar spidery script. “The Elemental Effects of Elements by Merchant Biles.” 

He laughed in recognition. 

“What’s so funny?” Draco asked, as he sorted through his own trunk.

“Remember that first class, when I wanted to impress Snape by having a conversation with him about magical interference in potions?”

“Yeah?”

“I just found the list of books he wrote down for me.” Harry showcased the torn piece of parchment. “I never did look for these books.”

“Just as well.” Draco huffed, as he tried to close his bursting trunk. “They’re probably very long and very boring.”

“Probably.” Harry agreed, but he still tucked the note away with the others. “Well, I’m all packed.” Harry brushed off his hands, as he closed his trunk with an easy click. “All that’s left is my wand and Hedwig.” 

“It’s too bad we’re not allowed to use magic over the summer.”

“Yeah.” Harry frowned, thinking. “Well, what the Dursley’s don’t know, won’t hurt them. It’ll sure make my life easier if they think I can hex them for messing with me.”

Draco laughed. “Do you think I’ll be able to see you this summer?”

“I hope.”

“Well, we can still write each other.” Draco reminded him. “I’ll write you as soon as my parents say you can come over. Oh, perhaps we’ll go to another Quidditch game! Puddlemere got destroyed when they played the Falcons last December.” Draco grimaced at the memory. “They need a comeback.”

“That sounds fun.”

The next morning was chaos, as students were double-checking their trunks and running around to say goodbye to their friends. It was more hectic than Christmas break, as nothing could be left behind and some of them would be leaving for good.

Some of the seventh years were in tears as they hugged each other tightly, promising their younger friends they’d keep in touch. Harry spotted Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout discreetly drying their eyes during breakfast, as long-time students approached them to say goodbye for the last time. 

The Slytherin Quidditch team gathered round for a photograph, posing Miles Bletchley in the middle of the group. Harry took a copy of the photo and tucked it into his trunk, alongside the photos he had of his parents. This, of course, prompted Draco to want a photo and Harry added another one to his collection, this one featuring himself with his three best friends.

Soon enough, it was time to go home.

Trunks, brooms, and pet carriers were whisked away by the house-elves and Harry glanced at the castle once more as he left it. He let Hagrid wrap him up in a tight hug and waved off the seventh years with the rest of the students as they took the boats back to the station, ending their stay at Hogwarts in the same way it had begun. 

He sought out Professor Snape in the crowd.

“Mr. Potter.” the surly potions master acknowledged his presence. 

“Professor Snape.” Harry mimicked the brusque tone. 

Snape raised an eyebrow in response.

Harry couldn’t help it; he laughed. He laughed and gave the professor a very awkward hug, inhaling the scent of fresh mint. “Goodbye, sir.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Potter.” Snape returned, his voice stiff. He patted the boy’s shoulder, when it was made apparent the child wouldn’t release until he reciprocated. 

Harry let go, waving as he ran to board the carriage Draco was impatiently gesturing from. He could hear Professor McGonagall chuckle as he turned away. 

“Oh, Severus.” she murmured, and her voice was light.

“Not a word.” he hissed back, but he found himself unable to put any real venom behind his words. He couldn’t help it. He bit back a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!! Thank you guys so much for even giving this story a chance, you all mean the world to me. Please, please, please, comment and review and let me know what you thought!
> 
> I have combed over all the chapters, fixed what some of you have pointed out, and tried to wrap up every loose end I noticed. If I overlooked something, please let me know as I appreciate the feedback.
> 
> Writing this story has been incredible! Please make sure you subscribe to the series itself so you'll know when book 2 is up! I'm aiming for next week, but we'll see! I'm excited to see what the future holds for our favorite potions master and his (not that he'll admit to it) favorite student.
> 
> Special shout-outs to: icis1812, bell, night, AdharaSnow, sparklybutterfly42, adafrog, and ESPECIALLY hope_06 and Krysania for their constant reviews and commentary! 
> 
> See you all in year 2!

**Author's Note:**

> Credit is given where credit is due, whether it be J.K. Rowling or the wonderful members of the Harry Potter community who have put forth plot ideas, headcanons, and theories that will no doubt appear in this story.
> 
> Updates will be at least once a week. Who knows when for sure, because I sure don't.


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